Scarecrow: To Walk with Fear
by Dr. Oranj
Summary: *COMPLETED!* A look into the High School life of a young Jonathan Crane, and how he became the ghastly Scarecrow. Told through the eyes of both Crane and fellow student, Caleb Wallace. Reviews are greatly appreciated.
1. They called him Ichabod

**To Walk with Fear**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman or any of its characters, all of them are the property of DC Comics. No copyright infringement intended.

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**Chapter 1: They called him Ichabod (Caleb Wallace)  
**

?

It's amazing what fear does. Turns brave men into cowering children, sends hardened criminals scurrying like schoolgirls. And I'm feeling the effects of fear right now. Trembling heartbeat, quickening breaths, the world around me is swimming, hostile, unfamiliar...

In order to make any sense of this, I have to go back to the beginning, back to the first day I met "him."

September of last year, just outside of Gotham City 

Last year, I was standing at Combs blvd., right outside of a dirt road bus stop. I felt like hell, half-asleep and functioning on a donut and some milk, a makeshift breakfast. My new school wasn't that far of a walk, but my legs were aching that morning. I adjusted the collar on my buttoned shirt, not bothering to tuck it in my slacks; it wasn't like the other kids were going to care. This was my first day at Kane High School, I couldn't believe this place resided next to Gotham City; it seemed so rural in comparison, dirt road suburbs. As the bus came into view, I fiddled with the straps of my book bag as I let out a drawn out yawn. The bus came to a screeching halt, stopping a small ways away. The doors swung open with loud thud, when I got on, I immediately gave my papers to the bus driver and picked a seat near the back.

The ride was brief, a five minute tour of staring at houses and grass. When the bus reached its destination, I was treated to a glimpse of the new institute. It was an old structure, classical to a degree; at least it wasn't musty old wooden shack. The old bus driver pulled the lever, allowing the doors to fling open; its trademark slam served as a wake up alarm for the sleeping passengers. Getting off the bus, I made my way to the entrance of the school. "Well, well, well, what shall we do on our first day of school?" I recited, recalling an old story his mother used to read to me when I was little. That said, I took my first steps in the building.

The moment I stepped inside, I pulled out the schedule from my backpack, printed on a bright yellow sheet of paper. In the top left corner was my name: Caleb Mortimer Wallace. God, I love my name. Scrolling over the small details, I got right to my schedule. First block: Algebra 1, easy enough. Second block: Chemistry, which wasn't too difficult with a little help. Third block: Language Arts 12th, a stroll. Fourth block: Computer Applications, a gleeful hour of typing practice. Now that I knew what I was taking, I needed to know where the hell the classes were.

The first day of school is always the scariest, and it didn't help that the school year had already started. No familiar faces to turn to and inside a labyrinth of hallways and lockers. All those years spent at my old school, gathering a reputation, sucking up to staff members, developing my status, all amounted to nothing. This didn't bother me, I wasn't about to wrack my nerves over being in a different school building. But little did I know, I was about to meet someone that would change my life forever.

Second Block 

Ms. Crawford's Chemistry Class, room 206

As the tardy bell rang, Ms. Crawford called me to the front of the classroom. My Algebra teacher introduced me himself last block, so this was my first time performing the introduction. The layout of the class was in blacktop tables, something I was used to at my old institute. I stood in front of the classroom, scanning my attentive audience that was already sizing me up. I could see that some of them weren't too impressed with my clothing choices, formal wear and all. "Good morning, I'm Wallace, Caleb Wallace." I introduced in a smooth and confident tone, like an actor I saw on TV. It was my attempt at regaining some 'cool points' with them. But alas, my opening was met with…

"Bond, James Bond." I heard someone jokingly repeat my delivery, gaining a few chuckles out of the class. I grimaced inside as I looked across the room. I was clearly in a class full of _geniuses_, who had already labeled me prep. Even though the chuckles soon died down pretty quick, I was pretty irritated by their maturity level. Therefore, I couldn't help but add, "Wow, I can tell this is gonna be fun." I didn't care whether or not they caught my sarcasm. I could already tell this class was going to be a chore to go to.

But out of the group of grinning faces, there was one that didn't seem at all amused. I didn't notice him at first glance because he was sitting in the corner of the room. He had a lanky frame, squared off glasses, short auburn hair, and wore some pretty bland Salvation Army clothes. No one was sitting next to him. Judging from first glance, he was the bookworm of the class, that one dork with the weird habits that nobody liked.

"Pick any seat you like." said Ms. Crawford as she rearranged some papers on her desk. Since the class just revealed their idiocy, I decided why not sit next to the bookworm? At least he had some dignity. So I picked up my book bag and made my way to the vacant seat, muting out any of the comments my classmates made. The only remark that stood out was, "oh great, he's sitting with Ichabod". I don't know why they were so fixated on the two of us. I'm guessing they thought we were cousins or something stupid like that.

I know I sound as if I'm being harsh and condescending to my old classmates, but their constant spouting of insults like, 'Ichabod Brain' and 'The Scarecrow found a brain!' killed whatever decency I tried to muster towards them. I'm not sure why they labeled me 'brains' though; I wasn't nearly as dorky as Crane. It's funny really, they always insulted us; but when test time came around, we were the first guys they'd cheat off of. Well, it's not like any of that matters now…

When I first met Crane, he was a complete recluse. Throughout the first part of class, I couldn't get him to say a single word. He would stare at me through the corner of his peripherals. At the time, I thought it was because he felt he was smarter than me. I liked that, it gave me a challenge to prove that I was competent. Unfortunately, the class was working on an experiment which dealt with separation of mixtures. Basically, I knew nothing of chemistry, which was my biggest concern. However, I figured that if I couldn't impress Crane with Chemistry knowledge, I would just find another way. I figured that, in any class, you need at least one ally/friend; someone that you can rely on in case things go-south. So instead, I basically whispered some snarky comments about some airhead girls and free-riding jocks throughout the first half of class in his ear.

Eventually, it was time for lunch break. Usually, that was breath of fresh air for the students. But when I turned to Crane, I saw him cringe. It wasn't until I got there that I found out why. The cuisine of that day was decent, better than what the other kids were griping. I got some mashed potatoes & gravy, some chicken nuggets, some rolls, fries and some chocolate milk. But as I searched for a vacant seat, a half eaten nugget whizzed right past me; instinctively, my eyes followed the nugget as it struck the back of Crane's head. Crane didn't even acknowledge the fact that he'd been hit, he just concentrated on the book in his lap, ignoring his tormentors. I traced the direction from where the half-eaten piece was thrown. And when I saw the source, well, that marks the time I met Bo Griggs.

You know that one person you see that you just know is a complete twat? Bo Griggs personified. He ran with a posse full of failed abortions, all equally as stupid as him. He always wore a varsity jacket with his name neatly signed in cursive (like that fool knew cursive), and had this brunette mullet. In short, he was the stereotypical jock, the guy that kept getting slaps on the wrists as punishment, so he thought he could get away with anything. It's a shame when the school system itself sets guys like him up for a fall. The minute they get out in the world, they're nothing but fish out of water. They can't cope, they do something stupid, dead or jail; the end. But I digress…

"Hey new guy," Griggs called out, signaling for me to come over, "I see you don't know the score around here." His tone implied superiority, as if I was a twit. "Nerds like him," he dabbed a finger at Crane, "are people you want to avoid. You start hanging with nerds, you're gonna BE a nerd. Understand?" a threat. "Hang with us, do what we tell you, and you'll be alright, no problems." He was basically offering a lapdog deal.

My response was simple and effective, something that rode on the lines of "Kiss my ass." And I sat with Crane anyway. I was not about to be Griggs, or anyone else's, doormat. It was at this point that Crane finally started acknowledging my existence. I guess Crane was going by 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' adage. It seemed me standing up to Griggs like that must have struck a chord with him. Aside from some barking from Griggs' table, lunch went smoother than anticipated. I can still recall our first talk. It was brief but memorable…

"So what is your name anyway? Ichabod sounds more like an insult." This was my idea of a conversation-starter.

"Crane, Jonathan Crane," his reply an echo of my class introduction. But I didn't sense any mockery, so I just ran with it.

"Jonathan Crane." I repeated, liked the sound of it.

"What books do you read?" Jonathan asked, his voice a dead giveaway to his social skills. You could tell that he didn't have friendly conversations often (at all). I could see it in his face; he was waiting for some remark about who reads books anymore.

"I don't read that many books," I stated honestly, "but I'm partial to Edgar Allan Poe… Pit and the Pendulum, Cask of Amontillado..." I added on, just to reinforce that I knew what I was talking about. The look on Jonathan's face was priceless. It was like he found a diamond amongst rubble. Someone else who actually reads in this stupid school, he must've been thinking. Unfortunately, this all took place near the wrong element and I had just made myself a new target. I knew from the start that Griggs was going to try to stir up some trouble, big whoop; 10 years later, me wealthy, him welfare. But I didn't think he was going to take it so far…

Dismissal

Third and fourth block went by easy enough. No drama to be had there, at least not yet. But when school let out, it was a whole different story. You see, in order to take the fastest route out of the school, I had to pass Crane's locker. And if anyone wanted to torment Crane, that was the time to do it. When class let out, I decided to stop by and talk to Jonathan for a bit. But, unbeknownst to me, Griggs and his boys were right behind me. The next thing I knew, Crane and I were slammed against the locker, a forearm pressed against my Adam's apple. Surprisingly, Bo Griggs was terrorizing Crane instead of me, instead I had one of his cronies. Everyone in the hall was watching. The staff was either too busy or didn't care, and the students were just eager to see someone get beat up.

"Looks like I got another scarecrow to slap around!" Griggs spat at me before turning his attention back to Crane. Jonathan was utterly helpless, his composure reduced to pathetic squirming. He was afraid. Now this would be the part where I revealed that I was a skilled martial artist and beat Bo into submission. Unfortunately, I didn't have those skills. Usually, I talked my way out of conflict, relied on fellow students or staff to intervene. No such luck here, no luck at all. The next five minutes or so consisted of Bo and his group basically throwing us around like ragdolls, slamming us into lockers, and kicking us around. Things I don't like to recall or go into detail about.

"See you around Ichabod and Sleepy Hollow!" He shouted as he left us in our misery. At the end of it, I had a nasty bruise on my cheek, clothes were wrinkled, and pride shattered. It took me a minute to get up, Griggs thought it would be funny to punt kick me in the liver before he left. I was beaten up on my first day of school, how embarrassing. Watching the two of us pick our sorry selves up off the ground must've been a sad sight indeed. I glanced to the side, to see how Crane was fairing. He didn't even seem to acknowledge that it even happened; he just picked up his books and continued on. "I guess that's our Brom Bones, huh?" I joked, realizing he was probably used to being terrorized. I knew this wasn't over, deep down; I didn't want it to be. I was pissed off that no one tried to stop them, that no one even lifted a finger to help us. Griggs was one of those athletes that felt he was untouchable, that he could do whatever he wanted to whoever. He was a failure in the making.

But what followed lifted my spirits. That Brom Bones line put a fragile smile on Crane's lips. I couldn't help but a feel a sense of satisfaction. I actually made him smile. "Want me to walk you home?" I offered. I knew it was a little out of the way, but I might as well get an idea of where my new comrade lived. What a mistake that would end up being…

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Next Chapter: Social Phobia (Crane's perspective)


	2. Social Phobia

**To Walk with Fear**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman or any of its characters, all of them are the property of DC Comics. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Social Phobia (Jonathan Crane)  
**

?

Observing him whisper and squirm about the field, I am given pause. Granted, my first experiment with hallucinogenic substances would not be the most successful… but this? I need a better solvent; the performance of this anesthetic is… unsatisfactory. Something is amiss. He is indeed afraid, but his state of anxiety seems... fractured. His behavioral patterns are not that of utter panic but…

Wait. I recognize these motions. That time we walked home… when he was going on about those accursed rats with wings!

Last September, walking home

Caleb Wallace. Caleb was a Hebrew name meaning "devotion, wholehearted". Wallace was a Scottish surname meaning "foreigner or stranger". A "Devoted Stranger", I wonder whether it was coincidental, or fate? At the time, I couldn't quite understand Caleb at all. Then again, I never had friends to compare him to. No one ever wanted to be around me. I was an outcast, a living handrail, a skinny awkward scarecrow. Even on Caleb's face, I would see his eyes measuring me as his brain calculated my height. I detest my lanky frame, it makes me feel unsightly, and the fact that I can't seem to gain weight only makes it more annoying. I was the one people would stare at and say, "Thank God in Heaven I don't look like that"! Even if someone ever did try to befriend me, Great Granny Keeny wouldn't have allowed it. Great Granny would have labeled them a heretic, a demon brought home by a wicked son that needed to be cleansed; fanatical religious nonsense.

When I first met him, I didn't want to speak to him; I didn't want to give him any reason to antagonize me. I already had enough tormentors and I didn't need one as a neighbor. But he kept whispering to me, not words of intimidation, but insults about the fellow classmates he had just met. It was obvious that he was flustered that the students poked fun of his introduction. If truth be told, I thought it was pretentious myself; that Caleb was trying to pass himself off as someone important. Normally, I would've ignored him entirely and went along with my own devices, but he seemed to take a liking to me. I couldn't understand why though, it seemed a bit too suspicious.

I remained silent, believing it to be all part of some ploy orchestrated to lure me into a false sense of security. In fact, I was expecting him to join Griggs when he gave him that offer. But instead, he spat in the bull's face and welcomed the horn. As much as I hate to admit it, I wouldn't have done the same. Time and time again, thoughts of revenge rushed through my head. But just seeing Bo's face would scare me. I was terrified of him. It was as if the essence of all my past tormentors manifested into a single being, one that lived only to torture me. No matter where I went, he would find me! He would never pass up a chance to humiliate me in whatever way he could! But that's now irrelevant…

After that brave showcase of disrespect towards Griggs, my opinion on Caleb changed. He reminded me of a storybook character, one of pride and bravery. His introduction didn't seem so pathetic in hindsight. Instead, it seemed more natural as opposed to pretense. Though I wondered, what drove Caleb to be so outspoken? During my studies on fear, I learned how fear drives everything. People's lives are governed by fear, from how they act, their life choices and what they believe in. All fear driven. Logically, Caleb's behavior was motivated by his own personal fears, fears that I felt inclined to learn…

Still even I couldn't hide my amazement when he revealed he was an avid reader. He was the only person I had ever met that shared a real interest in literature. For many years, my interest in books was the source of my criticism. I always read books that 'looked bigger than me', as my 'peers' would put it. I failed to see how my literary interests were such a problem. Einstein was right, great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds. But for the first time, I could actually speak with someone about a book who would know what I was talking about. It was the first decent conversation I had with… anyone. It was out of the ordinary, but that was by no means a bad thing.

The assault near the lockers was… tame compared to others. But no matter how hard I tried, I could never stand up to him! Whenever it happened, I would be too paralyzed by my own fear to retaliate. Among that, my subconscious would always remind me of the consequences of retaliation. If I struck back, he would've simply struck back harder. Bo was stronger and he had the whole school on his side, whereas I had no one. It would've be an uphill battle that I couldn't possibly win. So I chose to endure the beatings, pick myself up and try to carry on. I even tried to feign superiority through obliviousness, but on the inside, it always hurt. I was angry, and full of rage, but my only option was to suppress. I could do nothing against Griggs, absolutely nothing. But that method didn't seem to suffice for Caleb. The way he moved, the occasional grit of his teeth, it was clear that he wanted to avenge his pride. Ultimately, who could have blamed him? He was battered on his first day of school. His senior year was defined by humiliation from the start.

I remember that Caleb broke my stream of thought by asking me, "Jonathan, how long have people been treating you like this?" in a tone full of repressed anger.

The question brought back unpleasant memories of my past abuse. Sadly, the only true answer was, "As long as I can recall." I can't remember a time where I wasn't gazed upon with a sneer or a scowl. Books were my only solace, where people like me stood a chance against adversity. Unfortunately, life was no fairy tale.

We were already near the end of the suburbs, and were about to take that dirt road to the Keeny Manor, my dwelling. Unfortunately, I heard the distant noise of a speeding car from behind me. I could tell from the rumble of the engine that it was Griggs' car. Sometimes he would catch me, sometimes he wouldn't. It was all a matter of chance. Sometimes he would call me names, sometimes he would try to run me off the road if I happened to be on it. But that day, he had something else in mind.

"Ichabod & Brain!" Griggs practically sang from the window of his car. Suddenly, two water balloons sped towards us. Caleb managed to dodge the one intended for him, apparently having good reflexes. I, on the other hand, took it in the neck. The impact sent me down to the unforgiving concrete of the sidewalk. I could hear bellowing laughter as the car sped off. I felt so helpless and weak that I couldn't pick myself up. I sat on my knees, ashamed of my weakness and loathing myself for it. I was so pitiful. Looking back on it now, I can't blame Caleb for yanking me to my feet.

"Why the hell do you let them do this to you!" Caleb shouted, "Why don't you fight back!" I couldn't even look him in the eyes. Caleb's rage agitated the malevolent feelings I so desperately repressed. The feelings that seared me every day of my life, the complex and conflicting emotions that I refused to let out. I envied him, he was capable of showing anger, and he was capable of arguing and shouting at others.

"Answer me, DAMMIT!" He roared, "You're miserable because you let them get away with this! Always playing victim! You've got to get up and-"

I, in an embarrassing display of indiscipline, interrupted with "And do what?" screaming with tears in my eyes, "I-I'M NOTHING BUT A SCARECROW!" my voice was reduced to a pathetic whimper, "I can't intimidate anyone…! I can only scare small, weak things… nothing but birds!" I pitifully sulked. Caleb's gaze softened, feeling sorry for my predicament. Pity was never something I wanted to inspire. I'd much rather be an object of hate and terror than an object of pity. The fact that I couldn't control my emotions that time still bothers me. I detest lack of control.

Eventually, I pulled myself together and the two of us continued on. Caleb seemed to be focusing more on the environment around him. He didn't try to comfort me, then again he probably wouldn't have known the right words to say; nor would I have listened anyway. However, the significance of the day came when we came across a vulture eating on a carcass. "Jonathan, look!" Caleb called, turning my attention to the carrion eater. "A turkey vulture," he spoke with a unique reverence. Fascination was written all over Caleb's face, he was in awe of the vulture's presence. I, on the other hand, didn't share his enthusiasm.

"Why do you care? It's just a buzzard, a rat with wings." After suffering years of Granny's Aviary punishment, I was left bitter towards birds of any kind. Whenever I saw them, it evoked the horrid experience of my punishments. Hundreds of crows, black as night, swooping through an open roof to terrorize me as Granny sang Amazing Grace outside… saying it was God's way that I learn my lesson by facing my fear. It seemed completely improbable, why would a horde of crows suddenly attack a little boy? It seemed like it belonged in an Alfred Hitchcock novel, ridiculous. But from those 'lessons' I learned that the two most powerful forces on Earth, were fear and control… and that anyone could use them. Eventually, I discovered Granny's method, and was successful in my endeavors to _expunge _her. Unfortunately that was the only time I successfully utilized that power. I soon learned that what worked on Granny, an aging old woman, wasn't as effective when it came to young bullies. At that time, I was unable to find an efficient alternative, which left me in such a powerless state.

If I needed another reason to reject vultures, I was a scarecrow; birds were the only things I could terrify. Unfortunately, my comment clearly offended Caleb. His scrutinizing stare was piercing. "No, they are not." he suddenly spat, "I would've liked to think someone like you would understand them. Vultures are the most significant creatures on this earth. They perform a service that no other animal can perform competently." He practically reprimanded me, "They clean the earth, and prevent the decay of the dead from polluting us all. Yet are they thanked?" Caleb gave a rhetorical pause, "No! They're rejected and terrorized because _they're ugly_, or _they're nasty_." He added in a mocking tone. "Vultures are the inheritors of the dead, they respect one another and the only time something dies by their talons is when it's already at death's door, euthanasia." He finished, his expression changed when he realized that he had come off harsher than intended.

"Therefore, vultures are not rats with wings. Because rats spread disease and kill everyone." He suddenly joked, obviously referring to the black plague. I raised my eyebrows with a hum, signifying that I got the joke. I never bothered to look at vultures in such a light. I wonder what caused Caleb to speak of them with such respect. To call them 'inheritors of the dead' and the most significant creatures on earth' seemed a tad… excessive.

As the Keeny manor came into view, Caleb stood there mouth agape. Hard to believe I lived in such a place, an entire mansion all to myself. All evidence seemed to point to the contrary, that I lived on a farm in poverty and spent whatever funding I had on books. But despite living in such a large house, I can't say that I'm privileged, I'm still poor regardless. I didn't want Caleb snooping around and discovering anything, so I decided to send him on his way immediately. The house wasn't in the best of shape, and I didn't want him getting suspicious as to what I was doing inside the mansion.

"Well here's my place. You know where it is. But I've got a lot of work to do, so I'll see you tomorrow." was my attempt at breaking off the connection. Fortunately, it was enough for Caleb.

"Alright, but I want to give you something." He removed his backpack and searched around for the gift. Eventually, he pulled out a book titled _The Legend of Sleepy Hollow_. "I'm sure you've read it already. If you don't want it, I'll understand…" he stated, acknowledging the negative label the book had placed on me. I'd avoided Irving's tale ever since I'd earned the derisive nickname 'Ichabod'. But I succumbed to my curiosity about my fictional namesake, and accepted the book. Muttering a thank you, I made my way through the front gate.

"I'll see you tomorrow!" I heard him call out, waving goodbye. Against my nature, I turned around and returned the wave. I felt that I owed him that much.

Stepping inside the hall, I could imagine what Granny Keeny would have said if she saw Caleb.

"_Boy, come here." _

"_Yes, granny?" _

"_Who was that just now? One of your hoodlum friends, I suppose?"_

"_Mother, I haven't any friends. He was a new student."_

"_Are you lying to me, boy? God damns a liar. Lies are the devil's tongue! And I believe it's time we cleansed his wickedness away. It's time to visit the chapel, dress appropriately. You know which suit!" _

Just thinking about her made me sick. I don't know why it even mattered to me. She's dead. I saw to that. Deep down, I was eager to see him again. A peculiar specimen, this Caleb. I was curious as to what caused him to place buzzards on such a pedestal. I believed that through that I would find out what his fears were. Who would've thought it would have come to this…

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Chapter 3: A Vulture Named Mortimer (Caleb's perspective)


	3. A Vulture Named Mortimer

**To Walk with Fear**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman or any of its characters, all of them are the property of DC Comics. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**Chapter 3: A Vulture Named Mortimer (Caleb Wallace)**

?

I collapse, the chair that I was bound to screamed as it limbs cracked. The cries of shattered chair echoed through my ears like an ominous siren. The dirt beneath me is no longer tangible, and its mirage gives way to the street miles below me. Faceless bodies litter the streets and pedestrians just walk past without a care in the world. Understandable, who would mourn someone who has no face? No character? No significance. But the deeper I fall, I recognize the shapes of the corpses below—are all me. My face feels like it's burning, like it's melting away my features. I let out a muffled screech, yet no one acknowledges my existence. No one cares. I was damned to be another faceless body; an inconsequential…

As I fall, I somehow force my body to turn over, not wanting to observe my fate. But, to my awe, my face stops burning as I see a vulture swooping down from a rusted sun, ready to welcome me into its talons. I look towards the corroded sun and stretch my arms as far as I can. My voice hoarse, I force myself to utter the name, "Mortimer…"

October of last year, Kane High School

October was one of the best and worst months of my life. The beginning played out so well, but the last note was so—sour. But I'll never forget the time I met Mortimer. It was a Monday afternoon, Crane and I had just finished our lunch; gossip, laughter, drama, another day at the cafeteria. By this time, my friendship with Jonathan had solidified. We knew we could trust each other; in fact, we were the only people we DID trust. Sadly, Griggs' earlier warning turned out to be true. By befriending Crane, I was labeled a loser by association, and no one wanted to hang around me. I had been slandered and cast out by the 'in-crowd'. And by in-crowd, I mean jackasses who thought they knew how the world worked. Naive fools who thought they could tell people how their lives would turn out when they themselves haven't even started living. Good God, they would say the stupidest things about us. The one that particularly got under my skin was when they said that WE weren't going to amount to anything while they would be successful in life! Yeah, apparently Crane was going to spend the rest of his life working at a bookstore. I was destined to work as a janitor in one of their corporations. In retrospect, a janitor would be a nice title for me, cleaning up the trash of the world… well, things I consider to be trash.

After lunch, I convinced Jonathan to go outside and kill time in the courtyard. We usually avoided the courtyard, for obvious reasons, but it was too beautiful outside to ignore. Surprisingly, Crane seemed to be in higher spirits that day, which was uncommon. He had this new-found poise, perhaps from reading the book I lent him. It was convenient for me because he wouldn't have agreed otherwise. I knew we were running the risk by going out there, but I wasn't going to let fear stop me. 'Fear of failure must never be a reason not to try something', something I told Crane once. Apparently, he took that saying to heart…

When the two of us walked through the doors, I saw the other students glancing at us. I could see their mouths moving and the nasty sneers that followed. It was irritating, but by going over there and confronting them, I would've just been playing into their hands. I wasn't going to give them the pleasure. But the girls were the worst; they had no concept of subtlety whatsoever. They openly called us freaks, losers, any insult in their limited vocabulary. In fact, one of them mockingly asked if Crane and I were gay for each other. Damn…

Moving on, there was a moss tree in the courtyard that housed a small venue of vultures. Sitting down on a nearby bench, I took a moment to look at them, each one as magnificent as the other. Crane was giving me a sideways glance, probably making silent criticisms about my interests. It seemed like no matter what I did, I could never change his view on vultures. Jonathan had this strange tick when it came to birds. He always seemed so uncomfortable whenever they were around. I came to the conclusion that after being called a scarecrow for so many years, he must've embraced it. Sometimes, I would wonder if Crane would've turned out different had I been here earlier. I guess I'll never know now…

The high point of the day was when one of the vultures swooped down from the tree, and perched next to me. I watched as those beady eyes analyzed my features as I studied his. I noticed that he had a mane around his neck resembling a lion. That's how could I tell him apart from the rest. He was different, he was special. So special that I christened him my middle name, Mortimer. If there was anyone I cherished on this earth more than my mother, it would've been him. We are—were—kindred spirits. He was so beautiful…

I remember Jonathan snapping me back to reality, "The magnificent odor of death." He remarked. I spoke sarcasm as a second language, and he was picking it up. Crane wasn't someone who would normally quip, which only boosted my confidence. I felt I was making progress with him.

My response was probably, "What do you expect? Cologne?" or maybe I said perfume? My memory's beginning to haze. I recall going back and forth with him a little bit. But I can't seem to remember what we were saying. Oh well, if it wasn't worth remembering, it wasn't important.

Later on in the conversation, Crane asked me, "Why are you so fond of them anyway? Why are they so 'significant' to you?" he pressed. He was a bit annoyed when he said it, which startled Mortimer and caused him to fly off the bench. That was when I told Crane a little bit about my past, a touchy subject. Having to think about my dad's funeral made my mood sink. That was where everything started falling apart. That's when the world started to seem bleak...

I dropped my head for a moment, giving myself a moment. I wanted to condense it as much as I could. In no shape or form would I mention my mother. After a long few seconds, I turned my attention back to Jonathan, "After my dad's funeral service, I took a tour of the tombstones. I looked at some of the older ones, seeing the date of deaths and saw just how many decades they had been there. Some dated back to almost century before I was even born. And that's when I realized something, no one cared about them. And those who did were dead too." Just the thought of graveyards makes me sad, "No one remembered them, and no one who passed by would feel anything for them. They were just, forgetful background scenery." I told him, getting sentimental, "I was thinking, 'what was the point of living if people were just gonna forget ya down the road?' ya know?" I felt my voice parch up; I quickly caught myself before Crane noticed. For my sake, I skipped to the vultures, which was what Crane really wanted to know about anyway. "But that's when I saw the vultures, eating at some dead rabbit. And that's when things started to make sense…" I couldn't help but stand up at that point, "Here we are, human beings, buying overpriced boxes and expensive ceremonies for people, just so we can put them in the dirt to rot away; whereas the vulture diligently removes your body for the nourishment of theirs. Compared to that, burial seemed so... unnecessary. Vultures serve a distinct purpose and all are remembered for it. They don't have to worry about being forgotten, they're naturally significant." I declared with pride.

Knowing me, I gave a theatrical pause. And that's when I added, "Think of it this way, would you rather be eaten by bugs who reside in the dirt (hell)? Or would you rather be eaten by birds that take to the skies (heaven)?" I used a lighthearted tone, but it was a thought-provoking question nonetheless. Jonathan looked intrigued, listening to every word I said. He did want to be a psychologist, after all. Of course, now I know what he was really listening in for…

Suddenly, Mortimer flew upwards and perched on the bench again. Jonathan, on impulse, stood up and moved away. My favorite vulture gave Jonathan an awkward glance before his turned his gaze towards me, and he made a low hiss. I read once that Turkey Vultures didn't have a syrinx, a voice box, so they communicated with hisses and grunts. I like to think he was saying 'thank you, it's about time someone stood up for us'. But what made my day was when I reached out with my hand, and he tapped it with his beak. That meant a lot to me, it was like meeting my idol. No matter what, I will never forget that moment. For the first time in a long time, I had felt a genuine happiness inside...

But then he immediately flew off to the safety of the tree, and when I turned around, I wish I could've done the same. Of all the people to come and ruin this Kodak moment, it just had to be Bo "the bitch" Griggs and his jock friends. Every time he looked at me, he would give me this nasty leer. He may've been able to scare Crane, but I refused to let him put the scare in me. The one thing I couldn't understand was, for someone who claimed to have it all going for him, why did he go out of his way to bother us?

"What the hell's wrong with you? Playing with that ugly thing!" He jeered. A few of his teammates laughed even though there was nothing funny in that sentence. Then Griggs had the audacity to scoff at Mortimer, "Well, buzzards do love shit. Don't ya, ya stupid bird." He added, at my expense. I wanted to pierce his throat with a pencil for that. The garbage was mocking the essential. I saw Crane in the corner of my eye, doing his best to cope with his dread. I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists in anger. There are so many things I wish I could've said and done at that time. I wish I could've knocked Griggs to the floor, I wish I could've intimidated him. I wish I could've talked some sense into him. But the cold hard truth was—I couldn't. I couldn't stop him…

The most I could do was try to get in his head, stir up some doubt in him. Plant a seed and hope for rain, "Ya know Griggs," I began, feigning nonchalance, "you're a real—disappointment." I wanted to hit him where it hurt, "you walk around here like you're the next big thing to football. HA!" The malice in my voice was starting to seep, "In a few years, no one's gonna give a damn about you o-."

Sadly, one of Griggs' friends stopped me in my stride, "Yeah yeah shut the hell up, Brains." And then some random girl decided to chime in, "yeah, you're just jealous that Bo's gonna make something of his life. While you're not gonna amount to anything!" that damn remark, how I hate that damn remark! And that's when the cronies really started to gather, trying to put their two cents in. No wonder Bo was such a failure, whenever someone opposed him or tried to disillusion him, his friends would always reinforce him. They helped fill his head with delusions of grandeur and superiority. The question that most of us never asked was, after high school, what are you going to do if plans fall through? I guess Griggs didn't study for that question…

But before the stupidity reached a climax, the bell rang. Surprisingly, the students figured that they didn't want to waste time with 'losers like us', so they decided to head on in. Bo barked a few more threats at me before he left; but I wasn't even listening at that point. My plan might have worked, but my anger gave me away. Instead of giving him vague expectations, I openly insulted him and blew my cover. I guess I had to thank Griggs retarded friends though, they kept the focus on me which kept Bo's attention off of Jonathan. Sadly, this was the closest thing to a victory that I ever achieved. This was the only time a confrontation with Griggs didn't end with me on the floor or against a locker, so I savored every moment of it.

Looking towards the moss tree, I watched as Mortimer spread his wings as the rays of the sun hit him. He was giving the horaltic pose, as if acknowledging my success. Outstanding. "I'll see you later, Mortimer." I waved goodbye as I left the courtyard with Jonathan. Crane was eerily silent throughout the whole ordeal. He seemed to be deep in his thoughts, cogitating. I can only assume he was analyzing my behavior, and the info I gave him. Though I gained Mortimer, Jonathan gained something much more powerful. I had given him a clue to what I feared most...

* * *

Next Chapter: The Fear Talk (Crane's Perspective)


	4. The Fear Talk

**To Walk with Fear**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman or any of its characters, all of them are the property of DC Comics. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Fear Talk (Jonathan Crane)  
**

?

After grinding his face against the rough sterile soil, he rose to his feet and stared at the sun. I observe him intently, and come to a disappointing realization. There is not enough fear in his eyes. His terror is waning and in its place is awe. Though time was short, simply mixing hallucinogens and stimulants is a foolhardy way of experimenting. I'm sure that during college, I'll be able to further my study of chemistry. Nevertheless, I gave him a concentrated dose; he may not survive the ordeal anyway. If he does, the psychological trauma may be long-lasting, even permanent. I think I realize what I have just done. Rather than enhance his fears, I augmented his ideas. This will make for an interesting observation.

I can't help but think about the day I first learned about his fears. It was a discussion I'll never forget…

Gotham Public Library, October of last year

October, the host of the devil's holiday, as Granny would say. It was a holiday that was lost to me as a child. I had no friends, and granny claimed to have no money for 'Satanic pranks and dime store dress-up'. However, that month was pivotal to the birth of what I am now. So many things happened during that time; learning the source of Caleb's fears and suffering my greatest injustice. Though I must thank Wallace, of all the people that brought about my resolve, he contributed more than anyone.

I had studied Caleb's interests for over a month. I have to admit, he was an unusual someone. Never before had I seen anyone with such a reverence for scavengers. I noted that in every conversation we had that dealt with vultures; one word was always present—significance. Caleb was obsessed with significance. That was his meaning of life. He believed that if he wasn't important by the end of his life, he might as well have never been cut from the umbilical cord. Somehow he had mentally interwoven his need for importance with his love for the carrion eaters. All signs pointed to a fear of being ignored or forgotten, Athazagoraphobia. Considering the circumstances of his domestic life, it was feasible.

After school let out, we decided to head to the Gotham public library. Not the most private place, but it was one of the few places I knew our tormentors wouldn't be. Caleb was reluctant to let me see his house, though I wasn't too _keen_ on letting him inside the Keeny manor myself. Wouldn't want him getting curious as to where my parents were all this time. As friendly as we were, I could only trust him with so much information.

Being inside the library stirred my feelings towards Irving's tale, _The Legend of Sleepy Hollow_. At first, I was disappointed to learn that Ichabod was a bookish loner, but I was soon enraptured by Ichabod's wild dancing prowess. His lanky frame was admired for what it truly was, and that resonated with me. Ichabod had become my new hero. I was so overwhelmed with confidence that I danced in the cornfield—to the point where my moves became violent. Violent Dancing is what I called it; a crude but suitable name. Unfortunately, my spirit was dashed when I read what became of Ichabod Crane. I shared Ichabod's fear as he fled down that lonely haunted road with the headless horseman in hot pursuit. I wanted Ichabod to turn around, to face his fear, but I couldn't fault him for fleeing from a supernatural threat. To my chagrin, I would've done the same. But when the headless horseman revealed himself to be nothing more than his nemesis! That the _head_ was nothing more than a pumpkin! I couldn't bear the shame…

But from that indignity, I finally asserted myself. I vowed that would defy such a cruel destiny and that, in the story my life, the scrawny scarecrow would be victorious! I swore that, in the end, the last laugh would be mine. I like to think Caleb was playing the role of Hans Van Ripper, that choleric old Dutchman that lent Ichabod his horse, Gunpowder. Granted, Caleb's spirit was infused in vultures rather than a battle-worn horse. However, Hans Van Ripper was the closest thing Ichabod had to a friend in that accursed fable. He provided temporary housing for Ichabod and even showed concern when he went missing. Ironically, Hans was known for his temper; an asset he and Caleb shared no less.

Thinking back to that day, I was sitting opposite of Caleb, I remember watching him as his eyes searched the place. His hands clasped on the table, his brain probably guesstimating how many books were housed there. He was very analytical; I could always see the gears turning in his head. As always, his wear was formal; dress slacks and a buttoned shirt, emphasizing his need to feel important. Naturally, I had no subject to start a conversation with, so I signaled with a hum. Caleb was the one who usually got our dialogues going.

"So…" he audibly paused as he brainstormed, "Halloween's just around the corner, you planning on doing anything?" he asked. That's when I remembered that Jason Greene, a fellow classmate, was throwing a costume party.

"I heard Jason Greene is hosting a costume party two weeks from now." I brought up. I had overheard him talking about it with his friends. I don't know why I remembered that, usually I never listened to the chatterers. I guess it appealed to my interest in Halloween. I missed out on it during my childhood; perhaps I was trying to make up for lost memories.

Caleb seemed interested, "Really? You plan on going?" he inquired, leaning forward in anticipation. Caleb was unusually enthusiastic about the topic. At that point, I was undecided. I told him that I was contemplating on whether or not I should go.

That's when a sly grin stretched Caleb's lips, "Is Sherry Squires going to be there?" He asked me, hand rested against his cheek. When I was seventeen, I had developed a huge crush on Sherry Squires who, wouldn't you know it, had been going steady with Bo Griggs for four years. If only I knew what she was up too—I should've been more mindful of tripwires. As anyone would, I immediately feigned ignorance; but Wallace easily saw through it. "Jonathan," he shook his head, "please, I'd be an idiot if I hadn't noticed by now. You like Sherry. C'mon, I see the way you look at her." That clever smirk started to wear at my nerves.

In an attempt to wipe that beam off his face, I informed him, "But she's been going steady with Bo for four years now. She would never agree to go with me." Stating what I felt was obvious. According to the unwritten hierarchy of high school, Sherry was a popular girl, I was a bookworm. She was at the top, whereas I was near the bottom. I had convinced myself that such a relationship would never grow beyond a 'dream pairing'. But the glance I received from Wallace claimed the contrary.

Caleb looked at me as if I had been living under a rock for three years, "Jonathan didn't you hear? She broke up with Griggs yesterday. Everyone's been talking about it." He informed me. It was news to me.

"I beg your pardon?" I replied on instinct. I couldn't believe it. It was almost too good to be true. But alas, when something sounds too good to be true…

Caleb's eyes shifted towards the mahogany table, "Yeah. Got sick of Griggs and left him." then he looked back at me, "Guess she's got better taste than I thought." He commented in a low voice.

Normally, I wouldn't have spoken further on the matter, but I was so delighted at the news. Since Caleb was the only one in earshot, I allowed myself to comment, "She must have realized what an imbecile he is." I could never understand what possessed Squires to love Griggs. She probably believed that he was going to be a rich athlete in the future and she would benefit from being with him. Maybe she didn't really love him? Maybe she was just manipulating him like she did to me? I'll never know…

"So are you gonna ask her out, or not?" Caleb pressed.

Despite that information, I still had little confidence in my chances with Sherry, "Like I said before, there's no way she would say yes." I persisted, trying to get Caleb off the subject. But Wallace just wouldn't give up on me…

What he said next will always resonate with me. "Come on, fear of failure must never be a reason not to try something." It was a quote from Frederick Smith that Caleb lived by. I had always been afraid to retaliate against anyone; afraid that, if I did, I'd only start a war that I would inevitably lose. That's what separated me from Caleb; I feared failure, he did not. I took those words to heart, and they have served as a strong motivator for my actions—even now…

In a rare moment of poise, I truthfully responded, "Interesting, I'll definitely keep that in mind." This earned a nod of approval from Caleb. That's when I made my move. "Speaking of fear…" I began, "Why did you pick this location, rather than your house?" I figured it was an opportune moment to ask.

"I could ask the same question." Caleb retorted, well aware of my unusual privacy.

Thinking quickly, "My house is a mess. I don't want you to see it like that." I had to deter him from prying.

"Can't be as bad as mine," he muttered offhand. His face was full of variance. It was clear that he was having troubles at home, and clearly an opportunity to turn the tables.

"What do you mean by that?" I questioned with a harsh tone, feigning offense. It was my turn to put the pressure on him.

"It's nothing, never mind." Caleb responded defensively. He was clearly hiding something.

"What's wrong? You can trust me." I spoke softly with a compassionate gaze.

"I'd—rather not say." He whispered, showing signs of weakness. Checkmate.

"You'll feel better if you let it out…" A textbook reply, but there was truth in that statement; my emotional releases were a secret thrill of mine. I already had a good idea of what he feared; I just needed confirmation is all. He never did mention his mother, obviously a sore subject in his life. But being the only person he trusted, and his history of sharing his secrets with me, I knew he would talk.

It took Caleb a few moments to get started, it was sentimental story time. "Remember when I was talking about my dad's funeral?" I responded with a nod. "Ever since that day, my mom's been a wreck. She just sits around, goes to work, comes back and does nothing but sit around—waiting for nothing." Caleb's voice was drying up as he spoke. "She's like a zombie. Her body is still here, but her soul's gone…" his eyebrows suddenly furrowed, "She hardly even acknowledges me anymore. Her own son! I just want to her to love me again, to look at me like I matter to her, ya know?" he was doing his best not to cause a scene in the library. He didn't know how fortunate he was, to be able to show such emotion yet control it. I envy that.

At this point in the story, all I had to input was "Significance?"

He pitifully nodded, "I don't want her to end up like my dad. Gone and soon to be forgotten, she's too good for that. She doesn't deserve to die this way. And if I can't become an important figure…" his voice trailed off.

It was a simple matter of fill in the blank. "You're afraid you'll be forgotten of too." Caleb's silence said it all. Unfortunately for him, I had no intention of helping him conquer his fear. That fear was a guiding tool in his life; it drove him to try and be successful. It's what compelled his clothing choices, his grooming, everything about him. Caleb served as a testament to the power of fear.

"But I won't fail." Caleb whispered, "I won't allow it. Caleb Wallace does not fail." he vowed in between clenched teeth. Perhaps I was wrong before, he _did _fear failure but didn't let it cripple him. In a word, he was brave.

After a long silence, Caleb spoke up, "As for Sherry, you know Griggs is going to try something _when _you pick her up." emphasizing the when as he stated the obvious.

"Like it matters, he'll harass me regardless." I was amazed at my new found bravery. Looking back, that sounded like something Caleb would say. I was actually going to try to ask Sherry out because of him. He had quite an influence...

Wallace scowled to himself, "I can't stand that bastard. He thinks he's so big and bad..." he went on and on about how much he hated Griggs.

Eventually, I got tired of listening to his tirade. I tried to curve his anger, "You know what they say, Caleb. The bigger they are..."

"The more they bleed." Caleb finished in a wrathful tone. I was almost taken aback by the harshness for a second. I hadn't realized just how deep his hatred for Bo went. Regardless, it paled in comparison to mine. Wallace had only known him for a month, I had the misfortune of knowing him for years. Before Caleb had arrived, he was much more relentless in his assaults. I can recall a time outside of campus where he forced me against a tree and lit a match in front of my face. He forced me to choose what would burn, me or the 'fairy books' I was carrying. His cronies stomped my frail body as I was forced to watch him set fire to my literature...

Fortunately, Caleb was here now to break me away from such painful memories, "So what about you?" he suddenly asked, "I've already shared my terrors with you. So what are you afraid of?"

I wasn't prepared for that kind of question. The only answer I could think of was... "I'm afraid of bats."

* * *

Chapter 5: One Bad Day (Crane's Perspective)


	5. One Bad Day

**To Walk with Fear**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman or any of its characters, all of them are the property of DC Comics. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**Chapter 5: One Bad Day (Jonathan Crane)**

?

His dilated eyes scan the skies in wonder, watching the figments of his imagination move and shift. But suddenly, his face contorts and he snaps downward and vomits in reaction to the chemicals. To my surprise, he begins to claw at his own excrete, as if searching for something. His motions become more and more erratic and violent, until he turns his attention towards me. He glares that odious glare that used to frighten me. Like a madman, he charges at me and I am forced to flee.

As I run through the corn field, I'm reminded of the day I vowed to conquer fear. The last time I was chased like this was at Jason Greene's Halloween party…

The week before the party, October of last year

After Caleb told me of their breakup, it took me a week to gather the courage necessary to ask her out. I found her after school and that's when I made my move. I was so nervous in her presence; it took everything I had to form a coherent sentence. To my surprise/gullibility, she eagerly accepted my request. How could I have been so foolish? She had treated me like an inferior creature since day one, it was so clear that she had an ulterior motive. But I was too overwhelmed by her approval. If her acceptance was sheer joy, the party itself would've been nirvana.

Immediately afterwards, Caleb walked with me to the city to find outfits for the party; all the while constantly reminding me of how right he was. He was a broken record, constantly quoting and paraphrasing about the benefits of confidence. Eventually, he changed the subject by saying that things were going to change for me soon. His reasoning was that, by Sherry being my girlfriend, the rest of the students would treat me with more respect. He made it sound like they would forget about who I was yesterday. That by being with Sherry, I would miraculously become something more than bookworm Jonathan Crane. As absurd as it sounded, I allowed myself to dream. I let myself believe that the worst was behind me. I was a fool. In half-serious tone, he warned me that I had better not forget him. To this, I replied, "Come now, I've read more than enough books to know the outcome of abandoning friends."

We stopped by Gotham Costumes & Novelties to pick out a costume. During our selection, Caleb eyes kept shifting from me to the scarecrow costume he had on display, doing his best not to speak of the irony. At least he had the decency to keep his comments to himself. In the end, I picked out a cheap pirate getup, as far from a scarecrow as I could be. I was intent on proving to Sherry that I was not a mere scarecrow. Caleb picked out a doctor uniform, white coat and dress slacks (anything to dress like a success I suppose). When I commented about this, he countered by saying he would put bloodstains on the suit later. Little did he know...

A minute after we left the shop, we had the misfortune of coming across George Dunstan, one of Griggs' buddies. He was nothing more than a cardboard cutout handsome jock, a follower. But to my luck, he was by himself. No Jackson Grey or Bo Griggs in sight. His ever-present cockiness was replaced with discontent. It was safe to assume that he was aware of my arrangement with Sherry. And if he knew, so did Griggs. I remember him saying, "You and your lover pick out a good scarecrow costume, Johnny boy?" and then he directed his attention towards me, "I can't get why Sherry wants to go with a loser bookworm like you of all people! I bet your idea of a date is a trip to the library." He persisted, never passing up the chance to call me out of my name.

I was still afraid of confrontation at the time, and I've never been one to spew insults. But with Wallace as a friend, I didn't have to. "Hey Georgie, here's an idea. Why don't you go home, swallow some steroids, and play touch-football with your jock-strap buddies?" was his comeback, "Sherry's with someone who's actually worth a damn now. Not some jock who was probably cheating on her anyway." There was wit in his tongue. George was actually affected by that last remark. It was probably true.

To my astonishment, Dunstan backed off. "I'll see you two losers later." He spat as he walked past us. I noticed Caleb seemed a bit chary; probably felt that something was amiss. George did seem a tad out of character. He usually didn't let us off that easily. Then again, he was separated from his clique, which in itself was odd. Griggs, Jackson Grey, and Dunstan usually traveled in a group. I couldn't recall a time when I didn't see them together. I should have been more suspicious.

The days leading up to Friday, were the most drama-induced days I had seen in my life. On Monday, Griggs got into an argument with Sherry in the hallway. Griggs was with another girl who, supposedly, he was with while he was dating Sherry—much to the amusement of Caleb. At the end of it, Sherry declared that she was through with Griggs for good. On Tuesday, Sherry sat with Caleb and me at the cafeteria—us of all people. At the table, Sherry said that Bo wouldn't amount to anything, which was music to Caleb's ears. On Wednesday, girls actually tried to flirt with Caleb at his locker after class. But on Thursday, she not only prevented a seemingly inevitable after-school beating, but she even managed to get Griggs to argue with his buddies. Griggs' clique, that had tormented me for years, had fallen apart right before my eyes. I trusted her, I felt like my life was finally starting to look up.

And then came that Friday…

Jason Greene's Halloween Party

To my surprise, and to make matters worse, Caleb was conspicuously absent from the party. It was beyond peculiar, considering the amount of effort he put in to convince me to go. And that he had picked out a costume with me, proof that he had intended on going. I figured that he was just late and kept hoping that he'd show up eventually. Maybe if he had been able to get in, things would have been different…

To an outgoing man, the Halloween party was just another occurrence. To a reject like me, it was paradise. I was surrounded by people who usually wouldn't spare a glance my way; and they were now laughing and talking to me. The whole experience was surreal. I wasn't Ichabod, bookworm, or scarecrow to them anymore; I was Sherry's boyfriend, Jonathan. For the first time in my life, I was in with the in-crowd. At that time, I wasn't thinking about how improbable it was, people who hated you suddenly becoming your friends over the course of a week. But I was too blinded by pleasure to notice—especially when Sherry said she wanted to be alone with me…

"Come on Jonathan—don't be afraid." seduced the succubus. As she led me to the basement, she promised me that I wouldn't forget what was about to happen. How right she was. It was pitch black down there. The dark journey down those stairs was both frightening and deliciously thrilling. Premature sweat gathered on my forehead as I felt my muscles tighten with every step, I suppose it was the furnace that made it so warm down there. But it was the fragrance of Sherry's perfume which sent my mind reeling. Anxious, I asked her what would happen next. She replied in that coo of a voice, "Now, silly… you kiss me." I couldn't believe it. It was all I ever wanted, and more. As I moved in closer, I couldn't help but recall all the times I had dreamed about this moment that I thought would never come. Her lips were mere inches away and the gap was steady closing. I was about to kiss the lady of my dreams. I felt as if I was in heaven itself…

But then I heard someone behind me and, with an abrupt bloodcurdling shriek, it all turned to hell. Shocked, I screamed with terror as I gazed upon a sinister figure. Due to the darkness, I couldn't make out what it was, but it seemed far from human. As much as it pains to me say, instead of standing up to the creature, I panicked and fled. I ran up the staircase as fast I could, hearing the figure's footsteps behind me. I rushed out the backdoor, whizzing past those in my path, screaming and crying for help. And that's when I heard a familiar taunt… "Run, scarecrow… RUN!"

The next thing I knew something hard but wet smashed against the back of my head. Time seemed to slow down as I crumbled to the ground, realizing what just happened to me. From that moment on, the impassioned vow I made earlier would forever haunt and mock me. Despite my brave words, I'd panicked just like that other Crane—Irving's cowardly scarecrow, Ichabod. I was no different than him. I was him! I was the scared, weak, pathetic living handrail; Ichabod Crane, the coward who fled from danger. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, I would always be a scarecrow. They would resent me for it, they would pick on me for it, and they would hurt me for it. In those moments, I felt utterly hopeless. Fear had triumphed again.

The other partygoers had seen everything, and they wasted no time to laugh at my helplessness. The masks were off, and all that acceptance earlier was nothing but pretense. Grey and Dunstan were amongst the taunting faces. And the monster that chased me was none other than Griggs himself. Bo smugly made his way towards Sherry, wrapped his arm around her, and kissed her on the cheek. This had all been a setup, a ruse to let my guard down and humiliate me. Bo's breakup with Sherry was a hoax all along. As for Caleb, at first I thought the worst of him, that he was the Brutus in the whole plot… until I saw him painfully stagger towards the backyard, his face bruised and clothes stained with dirt and his own blood. It seemed that during the party, Caleb had tried to enter but was headed off, likely by Grey and Dunstan. As he leaned against the side of the house for support, for the first time since I met him, I saw tears form in Caleb's eyes. Caleb Wallace, Hans Van Ripper, the only person who had ever shown me a shred of decency at the cost of his social life, was crying. And among the jeers, Sherry's was the loudest…

Eventually, the horde decided to continue their party, leaving us in our own misery. Everything hurt, my pride, my dignity, my heart. Sherry had pulled me up, just so she could knock me back down. I risked a glance at Caleb, and though tears were flowing from his eyes, they were tears of anger. They had used him; from encouraging me to go to the party, to his remark about Griggs' promiscuity which probably influenced the hallway argument. At the cafeteria, she said what we wanted to hear to earn our trust. The girls at Caleb's locker were the some of the ones that would make remarks and fallacious claims about us being 'romantically involved'. And finally, her breaking up Griggs' group was to quell any doubts we still had about her. All of these things happened in succession to each other. If I had been more attentive, I would've seen how rehearsed it really was. The whole thing was a satire. A satire of our lives…

They had taken our friendship, the only thing we had, and turned it against us. Something inside me snapped that day. There and then, I made a new vow—to redouble my efforts and finally conquer the bane of my existence—fear. I swore I was going to make them pay for what they had done!

* * *

Chapter 6: Cruelty (Caleb's perspective)


	6. Cruelty

**To Walk with Fear**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman or any of its characters, all of them are the property of DC Comics. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Cruelty (Caleb Wallace)**

?**  
**

The birds… the birds… they grasp at me, saving me from the bleakness I was damned to. Whispers and hisses that were once foreign, all began to make sense. It all makes sense now! They want to welcome me as one of their own, but in order to become one of them; I must shed my former skin. As I regurgitate the remnants of my old self, I dig away through the skin and fascia. I find nothing. Someone had stolen my remains. The creature that stands near me is the one responsible. It is no longer something I recognize and its still frame provokes me.

This rage, this pure hatred, it's very familiar…

The days after the incident

Back in New Carthage, my old hometown, I was a model student. I worked hard, had a few good friends, and got along with school staff. God, I was such a suck up; but that's what it took to be remembered in that school. I had so many things going for me back there. But in here, I was scum. I was that stain on the floor everyone made sure to avoid. Granted, I had my fair share of bullies back then. But they were nothing like this. These people could get away with _anything_. They'd have to kill me just to get a punishment worse than a slap on the wrist. I had to endure countless criticisms and beatings; I'd lost count of how many times Griggs had kicked my gut in. I can't recall a decent comment made about me that wasn't drenched in sarcasm; and all because I associated myself with a tall bookworm? Terrible things have been done to me before. But never—ever—had I been manipulated like that…

Ever since I've been here, I've been forced to do nothing but fight. I snarled until my mouth was sore, spat insults until my tongue was dry and shunned those that scorned me. I figured that, if I was persistent enough, they'd back off of Jonathan. But they just kept coming, pulling out all the stops to make life hell for the both us. I was stubborn, and unlike Jonathan, I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing my pain. I didn't care how much or how hard they hit me, I would get back up. But that just gave them more incentive to keep trying. It pains me to say it, but when they did that prank, they hurt me. They actually hurt me. The drive that compelled me to keep going was… damaged. I had a taste of what it was like being Jonathan Crane, that vulnerability—that weakness.

After the incident, things only got harder. Jonathan had nearly isolated himself from me entirely. All the progress I had made with him was gone. He was the same recluse he was when we first met. I tried… I tried so hard…! To get him to hold a conversation with me like before. But all he would ever talk about—the only subject that mattered to him—was fear and its many synonyms. Jonathan's variety of literature had narrowed down to one topic, terror. The last light hearted book I ever saw him read was Wizard of Oz, another book that served as a source for our nicknames/insults. They would always call me Scarecrow's missing brain, even though my grades were usually a bit lower than Crane's, the lesser minds. But Jonathan did have a brain, and oh how he intended on using it…

But thank God for Mortimer; he was the only consistent friend I had. No matter how bad my day was, he would always be waiting for me in that tree, eager to welcome me as one of his own. The way he would look at me with those gray brown eyes of his, it made me feel so—appreciated. He was the only person I trusted (Yes, person). In the absence of Jonathan, I would speak to Mortimer, confiding in him instead. Though he may not have understood me, he would listen, and that's all I needed. Every time he perched on the bench, he would spread his wings in that horaltic pose of his. He was so beautiful…

Of course, openly speaking to a bird only led to further oppression from my onlookers. I was no longer labeled prep by my peers, I was a freak. I was that weirdo that talked to birds, which wasn't any better. Occasionally, someone would try to play therapist and ask me why I talked to Mortimer. They would tell me that it wasn't normal or healthy. And that I should find some real friends that actually understood me. Those jackasses couldn't get in my head if they had scalpels! They hadn't even lived life themselves, so where the hell did they get off telling me how to live mine? Saying if I acted normal like everyone else, I wouldn't have such a hard time. They didn't know what normal meant to me. To me, normal is a guy that keeps his thoughts to himself while going with the flow of things surrounding him. He has no individual essence and has an unimportant run of the mill existence. When you look at a normal man's picture, you recognize his face but don't remember his name. Normal, I would spit, who the hell was ever remembered for being normal?

Obviously, I rejected their advice. And every time I did, I could see it in their eyes, worry and pity. Now I understood why Jonathan couldn't stand it himself. That stupid sentimental look, as if they were looking down on me. They had no right to look at me like that. I was one whose life was significant, not theirs. I wanted their respect, true respect, not their shallow pathos. Every encounter like that made me remind myself of who I was. I was Caleb Mortimer Wallace, tomorrow's front page, the man who would chisel his name in Gotham's cold heart. My life was just beginning, theirs were almost over! I was not about to let them clip my wings before it was my time to fly, no matter what.

The beatings only got worse after the party. With Jonathan gone, they could focus all their attention on me. The punches felt harder, the chokeholds seemed tighter, and the verbal abuse hurt just a little more. Griggs would alternate between the two of us. On certain days they would get me, on others they'd get Jonathan. When they decided to pick on Jonathan, I would do my best to stop them. I didn't care what Crane thought of me at that point, he was still my friend in my eyes. When they left us, Jonathan would mouth certain threats, but he was always cryptic with me when I asked about them, as if he didn't trust me anymore. I didn't like to think about it, but I think Jonathan blamed me for what happened at the party. If I had just stayed away from the subject and didn't compel him to go, maybe it never would've happened. I forced myself no think that way. I didn't want to believe it was my fault. I was used, just like he was. One thing was certain though; Jonathan was becoming less afraid of them…

Strange, I know something happened during Thanksgiving, but for some reason, I can't remember it. My memory's fading again. Oh well, I do remember what happened when Christmas time rolled around. Winter break was the loneliest retreat of my life. The freezing cold and the snow only deepened my depression. My home was a low rent apartment in a not-so prestigious part of Gotham, not the worst, but there was better—much better. I was locked up in the apartment most of the time, forced to be in my mother's 'company'. Mom was an automaton; she'd wake up on time, work at the supermarket, and come back—and then would just lie on the couch. She would never say hi to me, or flash a smile my way. I just existed to her. I know that she blamed me for what happened with dad. She loved him so much… and when he died, he took her soul with him. The saddest thing is, as I try to remember him now, my memories of him seem to smear away… what has he done to me? I've got to fight this, got to remember…

In every book I read, the protagonist would always come from a rough background. The most hackneyed detail in any origin story was the abusive drunkard or runaway father. That always bothered me; it was as if every writer would use that as a crutch for the character's behavior. But my life wasn't like that; my father was a decent man, he was a police officer. Joshua Wallace was his name; I remember him telling me he named me Caleb due to a Biblical influence. This is where everything gets hazy; I know we were heading back home from—somewhere? We decided to eat at some diner that I probably picked out. Later that day, dad got sick and we took him to the hospital. Turned out some jackass contaminated the meat. My dad, the strong intelligent policeman, died of food poisoning; all because I chose that damn eatery. Whenever mom used to look at me, there was warmth and affection in her eyes; now their spiritless, as if I'm nothing more than just backdrop to her. I wanted to apologize to her so much, but that would be me saying that I killed my own father, and I just can't do that…!

On the morning of Christmas Eve, I was lying on my bed, staring at the lumps on the ceiling for what felt like hours. Jonathan and Mortimer were gone. I had no one, no one to talk to; no one to confide in about my scholastic torment. What was the value of my life? No one loved me! I had no real friends and a mom that ignored me! The students loved to upset me and the staff just didn't care. I knew suicide wasn't going to do it. If I actually hurt them or if it managed to open up their eyes, I obviously wouldn't be able to savor it. And there was always that subconscious thought, a lingering mental image of them laughing about it that bothered me the most. At that point, those kids weren't human beings to me anymore, they had no moral fiber. Plus, if I was gone, it would leave Jonathan all alone again. To put it in words that would perk his interest, I _feared_ for Jonathan. Not a day went by that I didn't worry about him, that he would've gone off the deep end during the break. For the other students, vacations like this were paradise; a time to kick back and hang out with their friends. But for guys like us, who had no such luxuries or decent households, it reminded us of just how bleak our lives were.

Christmas was ritually disappointing at my house. My mom didn't buy me any real gifts, and when she did, she never bothered to wrap them. The only thing she gave me was twenty dollars she placed under a cheap plastic Christmas tree. No jingles played, no holiday decorations, it was as if the Christmas spirit didn't grace my home at all. What had I done to deserve such a life? Well, you know what they say Caleb, God works in mysterious ways. Maybe now, things will change…

The day after Christmas, I decided to go outside and spend the money at the only place I could shop at, the Salvation Army. The sad reality of it was my "fancy" clothes were the hand-me-downs of my father. I outgrew all my old school clothes and dads were the only ones that fit me. He worked at the police station, so it was required that he wore button shirts and khakis. People assumed that I wore these clothes because I was some loaded pretentious prick—wrong—it was because I didn't have anything else. I went to the goodwill at the rich part of Gotham City, a smart move on my part. In the end, I came out with black dress slacks and a brand name black jacket with a black fur collar in my bag. It was derivative of the turkey vulture, the black collar served as homage to their bushy necklines. I no longer cared what people thought about my attire, whether they thought I was snazzy or if I was pompous, whatever. I just wanted to be happy with myself. I wanted to be like the vultures I respected.

But as I made my way through the shadier areas, I had my hands glued inside my pockets; pretending I had a switchblade on hand. Criminals were all over the place, the scum and failures of society desperate to bring someone down to their level. I noticed the dirty looks I was getting, but I didn't return them. I just kept forward and hoped no one followed. Being here long enough made me realize just how sick people really are. I had seen muggings, homeless people wandering the alleys; I'd seen drug addicts and I had heard cop sirens going off all the time. And anyone else who walked the streets witnessed the same things. But the sad thing was that none of them cared. They were desensitized to it all. It's true what they say about Gotham City, it does things to people.

I couldn't believe how happy I was to go back to school. It was a choice between limbo and purgatory, my phobia come to life versus social hazing/torment, pick your poison. Though the attention I received at school was negative, at least it was attention. Due to it being the second semester, my schedule underwent a change. I now had Statistics, World History, Genetics, and lastly, Digital Media Design; a class that I shared with Sherry Squires—that bitch. At that point, the Halloween party incident blew over. Griggs and his group stopped attacking us at our lockers afterschool, probably because their classes were farther away from them. It seemed like the worst was behind me. Calm before the storm…

Unfortunately, Jonathan and I didn't share classes anymore, so our meetings were pretty limited. But something had changed inside Jonathan during the Winter Break; there was something new in his eyes that seemed a bit menacing at times. He seemed more analytical, much more attentive and aware. He told me that he had been studying over the break, which was the nerdiest thing I'd ever heard. But then I looked at the titles on the spines of his books, _Phobias: Phenomena of Fear_, _The Psychology of Fear_, _Fear and its Effects on the Brain_ and _Anxiety, Panic, and the Mind._ I saw that he was serious about this whole fear study. At first I thought, oh it's just to help him conquer his fear of Griggs. I had no idea just how far he was planning to take it…

On a Monday in April, the wheels of fate started turning. It was the week of the prom, and everyone was excited. It was a pleasant change, hearing people gossip about something other than people like me. During lunch, Jonathan seemed uneasy.

When I asked what was wrong, he reluctantly answered, "Outside." I knew that if something had Jonathan this unsettled, it had to be bad. I finished my lunch quickly, put up my tray and made my way out to the courtyard with Jonathan behind me. As I rushed towards the buzzard tree, I noticed the vultures were gone and a figure was lying on the ground. As I moved in closer, I recognized the features. It was Mortimer! I hurried towards him, desperately trying to get a response from him—nothing. I begged, pleaded, and prayed that he would spread his wings or hiss once more. I didn't want to believe it. His body was limp; his curious eyes were forever shut. Mortimer, the companion that helped me through my depression, was dead. As my eyes searched the concrete, next to the body was a sticky note; and signed on that note in all pretty curves—_Bo Griggs_.

I felt broken. I just couldn't move. I fell on the concrete, Mortimer clutched in my arms. The comments of the other students were distant and muted. Eventually, Jonathan helped me to my feet and walked me out of the courtyard.

* * *

Next Chapter: My Prom Night (Caleb's perspective)


	7. My Prom Night

**To Walk with Fear**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman or any of its characters, all of them are the property of DC Comics. No copyright infringement intended.

Warning: Harsh language on Wallace's part

* * *

**Chapter 7: My Prom Night (Caleb Wallace)**

The Cornfield/Skyscrapers

After the inheritor of the dead welcomed me into his talons, I now float amongst them. I share their eyes, their nose—their earth. I can still hear the creature running through the literal urban jungle, but he is no longer a concern. A Cathartes Aura only has business with the dead. The world is a shifting channel. That which is, converses to and from. I stretch my wings and glide between the skyscrapers, and now I'm suddenly on the ground, walking. Is it me that is indecisive? Or is it the world? It's getting harder to keep it together. What's real and what's a figment is starting to blend…

I make my way out of the mirages, and as I leave, I see my comrades working on two recently departed rodents. Seeing them feast on the two bodies gets me thinking about a party, gets me thinking about a certain couple…

Friday: Prom Night, at home due to an out-of-school suspension

Sadly, I wasn't able to attend the senior prom, the only prom that really held any merit. Instead, I was at home, finishing up a three-day suspension. I was back in limbo, where time moves slow and misery is abundant. Then again, I probably wouldn't have enjoyed the prom anyway; it wasn't like anyone liked me. I was the outcast of outcasts, I didn't belong to any sort of clique, and I was sure that I was on everybody's 'most likely to commit suicide' list. I thought I was miserable before, but things managed to get even worse. As bad as school was, I always placed it on a higher pedestal than home. At least there was life at school; at home, everything seemed cold and dead. But now, there was nothing appealing about school anymore. Mortimer was dead.

I felt trapped, like there was nothing to hold on to, no way out of the hole. After all I had endured, this was my payoff. I was mad at Griggs, at Sherry, at my mother, at life, and most importantly, myself. I kept looking back, wondering what I could've done to prevent this from happening. I was at wits end with all this, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I exploded. And that explosion happened the day after Mortimer was _murdered_…

Tuesday of Prom Week

That Tuesday was the most infuriating day I can recall now. Word spread quickly about my reaction towards the death of a vulture, and oh, how the students babbled. As I walked past, I could hear them... discussing me. Yesterday, I went back to the courtyard and put Mortimer in my backpack to take him home, I couldn't stand the thought of his body being thrown in a dumpster by some janitor. He deserved better… he deserved better. But that day, there was even a rumor going around that I _ate_ Mortimer! That I took him home and cooked my… my best friend! This was the level of maturity coming from high school seniors near their graduation. The fact that most of these—FAILED ABORTIONS—would reproduce terrified me. 'Terrified'—damn you, Jonathan. Though, looking back on it now, eating Mortimer does seem more appealing… what am I thinking?

Thinking of Jonathan, I remember him telling me that he planned on going to the prom. I didn't know how to react to the news. After what happened the last time we went to a gathering, I thought Jonathan of all people would've avoided the prom. I would've been happy, proud that Sherry didn't destroy Jonathan's confidence, if I wasn't so concerned that she or Griggs would try something again. After the last trick they pulled, I demonized them to the point where nothing was beneath them. They were the mental picture I got whenever the word 'evil' came to mind. But Jonathan was intent on attending his senior prom, and he had this strange glint in his eye… maybe I imagined it? It's becoming harder and harder to keep my thoughts aligned. I feel so… scatterbrained.

One of the few parts of that day that I haven't forgotten/repressed was me, dragging my feet through the hallways and staring at the ground. As I walked towards my class, someone brushed shoulders with me. I could tell from the colors and fabric of the cloth, that it was a varsity jacket. I assumed it was one of Griggs clique and kept moving, but as I walked, I heard him mutter the word "Sorry". Looking back on it now, I wish I had taken the time to look at the guy. I don't think anyone's ever apologized for anything they've done to me. But I was too upset, too hurt to notice.

Sitting inside the classroom, I took the time to look back towards the hallway. I watched as the kids scurried about, their mouths moving but their words drowned out by the built up noise. But among the faces, Griggs was one of them. Bo "son-of-a-bitch" Griggs; I wanted to kill him. I wanted to kill that bastard the way he killed Mortimer. He needed to learn just how trivial his existence really was. It took everything I had to keep myself from charging at him. Not wanting to lose my temper, I forced myself to look away, praying that he didn't see me. Fortunately, he didn't. I was so angry that day, so full of hate. I just wanted the day to end without any drama. I was so close too. But in Digital Media, my last class of the day, it finally exploded.

Of all the people I ended up sharing that class with, Sherry Squires was one of my classmates. Before class had started, she decided to take a seat next to me. Of all the days, she picked that day to try to 'bury the hatchet' with me. Me? She was apologizing to me? Jonathan was the one she should've apologized to! It was Jonathan's heart that she shattered! I was hoping against hope that she wouldn't say anything; that she would just give up on it. I could tell by her body language that she was reluctant to say what she had to say, probably because she wasn't really sorry. She had already established that she was a chronic liar. I visibly tensed, but she decided to go through with it anyway…

"Look, Cal…" I hate being called Cal, "I know we've made your year a little hard for you and Jonathan," a LITTLE hard? "But school's almost over. It isn't like any of it matters now. You and Jonathan will go off to college and you'll look back on this all and laugh." Cry was more apt, "So… let's put this all behind us." This woman seriously thought that, after what she and Griggs put us through, we would just forgive them. That, after all the harassment, cruel pranks and beatings… after MONTHS of Griggs beating us to the ground and slamming his foot into my gut… all was well. I stayed silent, didn't even bother to look in her direction. I was in no mood to hear her voice. This was her idea of an apology. I didn't need it, I didn't want it and I wouldn't have it. In a low tone, I asked her to go away, to just leave me alone. But she didn't budge. Turned out she was a bad listener too…

She let out an annoyed sigh, like she had the right to be angry about anything. And then, she gave me a rant that pushed me over the edge. "I know that prank we did was kind of cruel. But it wasn't like we hurt Jonathan or anything!" what an idiot, "The only reason why Bo, Jackson, and George mess with Crane is because they want him to 'get some backbone' is all. He walks around like a pansy." Typical bully excuse, "Seriously, the only reason you get pushed around is because you always want to get in the way." I started to grit my teeth, "Plus, you bring it on yourself by running off at the mouth all the time. All you do is talk about how _you're so much better than everyone _and how _we're so useless_. Who the hell are you to say that about anyone?" She argued, "You needed your ego checked, plain and simple. You need to learn to keep your mouth shut about people." And then she had the gall to add… "Hopefully Griggs taught you that."

As soon as she said that, I snapped my head towards her, glaring right into her eyes. That did it… "The only thing you and your bastard of a boyfriend have taught me—is how to hate someone. I used to think that people behaved badly for a reason; that it was just for attention, crappy parents or low esteem. But you two…" I leaned in a little closer, "there's no reason for your actions. There's no excuse. You two are just evil sacks of shit that wanna see another man suffer until he BREAKS!" I roared at the end, stood up so quick that I knocked my chair over. I could _feel_ the other students staring at me, but I was too immersed in my fury to care. "Do you ever stop and think, 'should I do this?' or 'how do they feel?' does it EVER cross your mind that what you're doing hurts people? Do you have any idea what you me through? What you put Jonathan through? What did he ever do to you?" I exclaimed.

I heard the protests of the teacher, but I didn't acknowledge them. This had to be said. She needed this told to her. "For you to pull someone up… just so you can knock them down…!" I was so mad, I couldn't finish that sentence. I moved in dangerously close, until her face was just inches from mine. I could see the anxiety trembling in her eyes. At that point, I was speaking out of pure resentment. "If someone came up to your house, pulled out a gun, and shot you right at the front door, I wouldn't care. If you two died in a car wreck, flew through the windshield and died slow deaths in the middle of the street, I wouldn't even bat an eye or shed a tear. I hope that when you die, everyone forgets about you. Shouldn't be that hard, cause I don't see a damn thing good about you." The words just seeped out of my mouth like poison, "So don't even waste the energy to move your tongue. Because to tell to you truth, I don't give a shit about what you have to say. Fuck you!" I screamed at her as loud as I could, and then I stormed out of the classroom.

Back to Friday

And that's what led to my suspension, my very first suspension as a matter of fact. I may have missed my senior prom for it, but it was so satisfying! Besides, it wasn't like I had a date anyway. Originally, my plan for the prom was to go alone and then pick up one of the dateless girls. But by that point, I was an untouchable on the social hierarchy. Oh well, it's not like I'll be going back there again…

I watched the clock ritually, watching as the hours went by. While others were having the time of their lives, I was rotting away in a soulless den. Desperate to kill time, I decided to turn on the TV, just to stop the silence. As I switched through the channels, I settled on GCN, just to see who-killed/robbed/raped-who that day. I just wanted to see someone who was worse off than I was. Instead, I was treated to Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham; that rich, dim-witted, playboy bastard. The news story was about how Wayne had expressed an interest in joining the FBI. Seriously, a person thinking about doing something was news? I never liked Bruce Wayne. The only reason he had any publicity at all was because his parents were significant. He was just famous for being famous. All everyone did was play into his childhood sob story while he screwed around and had other people manage his company. He hardly did any real work, and he got media every time he ate at a restaurant. Here I was, with a dead father and a lifeless shell of a mother, constantly abused on a daily basis. And when Mortimer was killed, an inheritor of the dead, a necessity to the ecosystem of the world. No one even cares; no one bats an eye or has a shred of sympathy for him or me. But some rich prick ponders about doing something and he just gets all the attention. What a screwed up world we live in.

We are all born as dirt, and we must strive to be stone. But people like Bruce Wayne; they're spoiled into thinking this rule doesn't apply to them. They can get anything, whatever they want without doing a lick of work, and they have the gall to look down on people like me. I'll show 'em, I'll show 'em all…

Sometime later, my Mom came back from work. As usual, she didn't say anything to me; she just locked herself up in her room. She was just dragging through life, waiting for something or someone to revitalize her. I wanted to be that person; the one to liberate her from her suffering. I knew my goals were mostly rooted in resentment for other people, but more than anything, I wanted to make her proud. I wanted her to be happy for me, to see her smile one more time.

When eight o'clock rolled by, I went to my room and did my best to try and sleep the day away. All I could think about was Jonathan, and what Griggs and Squires were up to. I spent hours of that sleep damning those two. I hoped and prayed something would happen to them, anything that would hurt them. People like them didn't deserve to be happy.

And Sherry, the cut-rate slut that turned Jonathan into what he is…! I begged for a cruel twist of fate.

* * *

Next Chapter: Night of the Scarecrow (Crane's Perspective)


	8. Night of the Scarecrow

**To Walk with Fear**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman or any of its characters, all of them are the property of DC Comics. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**Chapter 8: Night of the Scarecrow (Jonathan Crane)**

The Cornfields

Well that was unexpected. At first he tries to attack me, and then he just loses interest. Regardless, just lacing Phencyclidine has proven itself unsatisfactory. I need a more accurate mixture, one that actually invokes panic. However, one can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. And for what it's worth, it was a good practice experiment before I go to college.

Well, at least now I won't have to worry about anyone finding out…

Friday, Prom Night

After the incident at the Halloween party, I was driven to find a way to exact vengeance on Sherry and Griggs. That was the _straw_ that broke the camel's back. As the weeks of the first semester dwindled down, I decided to read Baum's fable, _The Wizard of Oz_. It was the last light reading I would ever indulge in. Much like _The Legend of Sleepy Hollow_, it was a reference for the mockery me and Caleb endured. Despite the comparisons my fellow students would make, I was far different from the scarecrow in that tale. I did have a brain. And I would fulfill my vow through its concentrated use.

I had decided to limit my interaction with Caleb for several reasons. After what Sherry did, I realized that even he could be used as a tool against me. Also, if I were to conquer fear, then I would have to detach myself from him. In my study of fear I learned that, if one is attached to something or someone, then that person will fear the thought of it being taken away. It's a common fear, one that no one really thinks about until it happens. The Scarecrow must not share that universal weakness. Caleb was obviously hurt by my decision, but I figured he would confide in that ugly, docile, oversized pigeon. However, I would use his vindictive words to further fuel my motivation. Whenever I felt my resolve weaken, I would gain incentive by thinking back to our prior conversations.

Though Caleb clearly had his own ideas for payback against the two, I didn't want him involved with my scheme. Caleb had merely tasted the indignity that I had suffered for years; his hatred hadn't manifested enough. Wallace was thinking too small, a brief moment of embarrassment was not enough to satisfy my wrath. What I had in store for Griggs and Sherry was far more severe than simple humiliation. I wanted to traumatize them; scare them to _death_.

Usually, Winter break was nothing more than a reminder of how empty my life was. But this time, it was the recess I needed to develop my plans. No more distractions, and all the time in the world to myself. Once again a loner, I retreated to the sanctuary of my room and the safety of my books. I invested most of my limited funds into my research; I had accumulated quite the omnibus, stacks of volumes as thick as phonebooks, all pertaining to phobia. That entire break, I embarked on a feverish study of terror. My reading became much heavier, and I didn't stop reading until I knew each book from cover to cover. If I was to conquer the bane of my existence, I needed to know what caused it, biochemically and emotionally. No fear—once you know fear. Unfortunately, the books from the City Library only went into so much detail. I still need access to books that go into further depth on the aspects of fear. Certainly Gotham University will have the resources I require…

But not only was I studying fear, I was starting to experiment with what chemicals could cause it. Drugs were an uncharted territory to me, and any information regarding their ingredients was unavailable to me. But this is Gotham City, it's not like I couldn't find pharmacists willing to vend a few substances. However, my concoctions were nothing but mundane mixtures due to my inexperience. But that didn't mean their effects weren't worth looking into…

When it came to Caleb, I realized just how far my fears played into our relationship. Many times I found hypocrisy in his criticisms, but I never brought it to his attention. In conversations, people tend to avoid certain topics out of fear that we may hurt the other person's feelings. We're careful of how we say things because we're afraid of being misinterpreted. This all became clear to me over the winter break. To truly master fear, you must have no conscience, no attachment, and no hesitance. The last time I had felt such a sensation was when I, or rather _they_, silenced Grandma Keeny. And then there was that certain fowl…

I attended the senior prom, dateless as expected. But I was ready, ready at last. Surprisingly, Caleb couldn't attend the prom due to a suspension. From what I heard, he snapped at Sherry something fierce a few days before. Deep down, I wish I could've seen it, someone finally tear down that little harlot.

No one noticed when I left the prom early, which made it that much easier to prepare myself. Hiding behind bushes, I removed my cheap tux and donned myself in familiar rags; ones that watched me struggle in the yards and saw me leave the manor every day of my life. I took a long pause, gazing at the identity before me. Once I wore this costume, it would consume me. There would be no going back. The man who I was, the nervous, weak, fragile man I was before, would be gone forever. I would be Jonathan Crane in name only.

That's when a felt a tinge of worry, that irksome thought of 'what if things went wrong, like at the Halloween party?' came to mind; the remnants of weak old Jonathan Crane trying to rise up. But that's when I remembered what Caleb told me last year, 'Fear of failure must never be a reason not to try something'. If I was to be the master of fear, I would have to overcome all its forms, including doubt. All my life, I've lived in a constant state of fear. I've been afraid of other children, afraid of teachers, afraid of Grandma Keeny, and afraid of being wrong. Jonathan Crane was a weakling, a pathetic shell of a man whom no one would respect; as Caleb would say—an insignificant coward. Thank you, Caleb.

As my long limbs slid through the sleeves and pants legs, a strange sensation swept over me. My lips began to curve as I fit my phalanges with gloves and socks. The last thing I put on was the mask. Like a trophy, I lifted it above me, and slowly pulled it down my head. I adjusted it so I could see without obstruction, and all that was left was noose. I closed my eyes as I tied the bag around the base of my neck, relishing every second. The moment that burlap sack wrapped around my face… I felt… powerful! No longer was I the weakling, paralyzed by the cruelty of the world around him. I had become the silhouette in the dark that kept people up at night. I had become the paranoia that compels people to lock their doors and shut their blinds. I had become the fear that trembles the heart, shatters the mind and cripples the brave. I was SCARECROW!

At long last, I had become him—The Scarecrow—perhaps, I've always been him. All my life I had been called a scarecrow, everyone could see it—except me. I was in denial, I refused and rejected it. But now that I had embraced it, it was all so clear. Wasting no time, I made sure I had what I needed, and that I had the perfect vantage point to watch it all unfold. By the time Sherry and Griggs got to the traditional parking spot, everything was in place. I recognized Griggs' car immediately, hard to miss considering how often he ran me off the road with it. I took to the trees and perched on a nearby branch, offhand and high enough for them not to notice me. If only he had seen it, I looked just like one of his stupid birds…

I didn't make my move outright, I took my time. I decided to give them ten minutes; plenty of time to get myself worked up. I could feel the last strings of my heart break as Sherry made out with Bo. There was a time where I would've given _anything_ for her to do that to me; to feel her touch, for her lips to caress mine, for her… to love me. The two of them seemed so happy together, happiness they didn't deserve! I watched intently, building up the fury that had accumulated over years of torment. I forced myself to watch this, to destroy whatever feelings of love I had left. Just looking at them brought up painful memories about how she toyed with my emotions, and how she laughed at me when I was at my most vulnerable. The last memory that played in my head was her laughing, "What's the matter, scarecrow? Did something scare you?" amused at my broken state. And that's when I tossed the Cherry Bombs…

Startled by the noise, they held each other tight as they looked around for the source. I could hear their voices, compressed in the vehicle, asking who was shooting. The smoke bomb was next, right in front of Griggs' car, frightening Sherry. They were screaming in their cluelessness, I could hear their anxiety as they spoke. At long last, I had done it, they were afraid. I was overcome with excitement; I couldn't contain myself any longer! And that's when I let them have it. I leaped from the branch and slammed right on the hood of the car with a loud thud. I terrified them with the very thing they had mocked for years, me Jonathan Crane—no—Scarecrow! As the smoke unveiled my figure, I brandished a gun and pointed it right in their face. I can still see them now, the eyes filled with terror, their mouths agape—I could almost hear their hearts hammer against their chests—it was so beautiful. The gun in my hand was only a cheap water pistol, but in the dark, it was the first instrument of true fear I ever held.

They gave in to the fear. As Griggs shot in reverse, I jumped off the car in a dramatic fashion. They scattered in a panic, screaming and swerving about. Once a big strong handsome bully now reduced to a small bird that even I could frighten. The mental picture of them petrified at my visage would stay in my mind forever. I had simply done to them, what they had done to me. They attended a party that was sure to end in romance, and then a monster appears out of nowhere and tries to kill you. As Goethe said, 'superstition is rooted in a much deeper layer of the psyche than skepticism'. And that power of superstition is now mine. Once Ichabod Crane, now the Headless Horseman.

I watched as the car sped off from the distance, and that's when I saw it begin to swerve out of control. I watched in awe as Griggs car swung off the road and barreled into a ditch, colliding into a tree with a thunderous boom. I would have gone down there to see the damage, but I didn't want anyone to think I had anything to do with their little mishap. I later learned that Bo would be paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of his life. And as for Sherry Squires, she died before dawn, wedged halfway through the windshield. I guess Sherry didn't get the memo, 'seatbelts save lives, so buckle up, babe!' heheheh. As far as Griggs is concerned, when my tools improve, I'll pay him a visit and finish the job.

With satisfaction in my heart, I fetched my tuxedo, and practically skipped back to the Keeny manor. I was impressed, not with the outcome, but at my indifference towards it. I thought I'd feel at least a little guilt since my actions ended someone's life and ruined another. But—in all honesty—it felt delightful! The adrenaline rush, the joy of seeing fear in another's eyes… it's breathtaking. That night, I truly learned the most valuable lesson of all. Fear is _power_. I had conquered the two greatest adversaries of my life, and I did it through utilizing fear. I had taken the bane of my existence, and made it my greatest weapon.

All I could think about on the way home was how ready I was for college, where I could intensify my studies of fear…

* * *

What have I become? (Caleb's perspective)


	9. What have I become?

**To Walk with Fear**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman or any of its characters, all of them are the property of DC Comics. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**Chapter 9: What have I become? (Caleb Wallace)**

The ground based sky 

Who or what am I? I am no longer certain. My memories are becoming even vaguer; all I can remember are a few select faces, and the hatred they summon inside me. But even that will smear away soon. I'd like to think of myself as a once good individual, and that my deeds were done in indignation. But my only vivid memories make me look like a monster…

On a Monday

Today, I woke up feeling ready to flat line. My limbs were fried and my crusty eyes flickered like a dying light bulb. I dragged my tired self to the bathroom and gave myself a hard look in the mirror. I haven't had my hair cut in well over a month, so I have a shag rug with a sour smell on my scalp. Dark circles had accumulated under my eyes due to my lack of sleep over the last few days. In short, I was a mess; a dirty, rotting, mess. No matter how much I washed, how much soap and shampoo I used, I still felt dirty. I kept trying to wash it away, but I gave up when my skin started to burn…

When I got dressed, I opened up my book bag and said hello to Mortimer; what remained of him anyway. I didn't care how bad he smelled, I wanted him with me. The more I think about it, the more I realize I should've returned him to his venue. There's no dignity in leaving him in my backpack; he deserves better. I now see the error of my ways, and I intend on rectifying that soon enough…

I started my long trek towards Combs Boulevard. My shoes scrapped against the concrete as I drug my feet towards the outskirts of the city. No longer was I dressed with dignity or walked with pride. I was just another street rat in Gotham. It took awhile, but this city finally broke me. As the pavement gave way to dirt, I thought about how this all started. Last year, I stood here in khaki pants, a smooth hair cut, and a nice buttoned collar shirt. I may have felt like hell then, but at least I looked like a winner. Now, not only did I feel like hell, I looked the part. Under my black fur 'vulture' jacket is a wrinkled white t-shirt that I'm hiding under the zipper. And resting on my waist are some craggy khaki pants that I've been wearing for four days now.

During the ride on the bus, I heard the students talking about how someone died on prom night. I was hoping that they were just joking, that it was just a stupid rumor. But at school, there was eerie silence today. I also noticed that I didn't see Jonathan in the hallways or at his locker. I worried so much in those thirty minutes that I probably trimmed a few years off my life. In the back of my mind, I was hoping, praying, that Jonathan didn't commit suicide. I had already lost Mortimer; I didn't want to lose Jonathan next…

Everyone was solemn in class, and I was all but ready to breakdown. There were several faces around me, ones that had taken pleasure from our suffering. And now that Jonathan was gone, I assumed that now they realized just how sick they really were. But little did I know that they were miserable about something else. When the last two tardy bells tolled, I thought they were for Jonathan. I felt my heart skip a beat when I heard the intercom buzz. I was thinking that it would be the confirmation of Jonathan's death. I felt my mouth dry and my body tightened up. Shockingly, the message the intercom would relay swept my anxiety away. How—_Cathartic_...

"_Students and teachers, we regret to inform you that during the Prom, there was a car accident that took the life of fellow student, Sherry Squires. Student and football athlete, Bo Griggs, was another unfortunate victim of the accident, which has left him paralyzed from the waist down. We are all deeply saddened by the loss of Sherry and we all wish Griggs a speedy recovery."_

When that message played, it took everything in my power to suppress the grin that wanted to grace my lips. There truly was justice on this earth, there was a God. The solemn mood of the classroom was a disparity to me; I had to find some excuse to get out of there, I didn't want to divert any attention towards me. Using the sorrow I had built up earlier, I put on a troubled face and asked if I could be excused to go to the restroom. The teacher believed it was to mourn in solitude; in reality it was to rejoice the triumph of karma. Wow, celebrating a woman's death and a man's paralysis, what have I been reduced to?

The bathroom was usually vacant during class time. It was a perfect (and fitting) spot for such a thing. As I walked through the door, I made a left turn towards the urinals. And who did I see in the middle of the restroom, but a wheelchair-bound Bo Griggs. This was the first time I'd ever seen him alone. No teammates or peers around to support him, just me and him…

I felt that, after all the humiliation I had gone through, destiny was finally working in my favor. Here he was, Bo "Brom Bones" Griggs, the man who made my life a living hell, Mr. Big man on campus; now crippled and vulnerable. I scrutinized his pitiful form; his face had dried up tear stains, eyes dim, and his arms hanging lifelessly from his shoulders. It was as if he had lost his will to live. He turned and looked at me and, my God, there was fear in his eyes! For the first time in my life, I was truly feared. I felt my face tighten; air was accumulating in my mouth, stretching my lips. A hum escaped from the back of my throat, and it was accompanied by another, until…

"Hehehe!" I couldn't hold it in. "Welly welly well, if it ain't 'Gimpy' Griggs?" I jeered, staring right into his eyes. What could he do to me now? School was almost over. Everyone had fed his ego, told him that he was college bound and that his sports scholarships would push him through. Now those deals were gone. At that point in time, I was a human, and he was a tarantula that had been defanged. For the first time in his life, he felt as weak and as powerless as he made me and Jonathan feel. I remember him calling me a name, but I don't remember what it was. Come to think of it, what was my name before…?

At first, Griggs tried to tear me down with his words, hoping that I was still afraid of him. It was as pathetic as it was futile. I didn't even have to respond to his threats, he fell apart in mid-sentence. I should've just left him alone. Alone so he could grieve over his girlfriend. He was already hurt; I had gotten what I wanted. But I was so drunk with my desire for retribution. I wanted to hurt him as much as possible. I went on a long tirade, summing up everything he had done to me, what he had put me and Jonathan through. I took him apart piece by piece, and he had no one to come to his aid. I was determined to push him over the edge. What I said last did it…

"You know, right now I bet your thinking that the wrong person died. Guess what? You're right! You SHOULD HAVE died. Sherry should've been the cripple. At least Sherry would've been smart enough to hold a desk job!" I shouted, launching spit into Griggs' sullen face. After I said that, Griggs' depression morphed into rage. The hatred in his eyes was—I have no other word to describe it—overwhelming! On impulse, he threw a clumsy punch that nearly flung him out of his wheelchair. With a push of my foot, I sent the chair over, hurtling him to the germ infested dirt-brown floor tiles of the bathroom. His head snapped up, and he tried to push himself off the ground and get to his feet, but that's when the cold reality sunk in. He had forgotten that he was a paraplegic now—there was nothing he could do to stop me. I can still see the look on his face, the heartbreak, the depression—I was gazing upon a broken man and loved every second of it.

But that wasn't the end of it. I wanted to add injury to insult. "It's your turn to squirm, you failed abortion. So writhe!" And with that said, I punt-kicked him right in his sensitive liver. Griggs curled into a ball as he lay at my feet. "Something you'll never do again!" I blurted; so much irony in that simple statement. As Griggs bellowed in suffering, I made my way out of the bathroom, in case someone stepped in on us. I could've sworn I heard Griggs sob as I walked out. "Have fun existing." I said to him while I was still in earshot. It's pointless dwelling on this now. His life is already over, and maybe I'll be the one to perform his rite of passage?

I don't remember eating lunch at the cafeteria. Then again, I can't seem to remember much anyway. I probably skipped school today. I didn't want to be around when Griggs told his friends about what I had done to him, that is, if his pride allowed him to. Griggs wasn't able to beat me up anymore, but his friends were. Also, I wanted to tell Jonathan the news. Two of his worst enemies finally got what they deserved, and he wasn't there to hear it. How could I be so naïve? I never stopped and thought about why he hadn't attended school that day. It never dawned on me that he might have had a hand in Griggs and Sherry's incident…

It was eerie being outside at such an early hour, it seemed surreal how quiet and still everything was. As I walked, I was constantly turning around, looking out for that red car that would always run me off the road. I could still hear it in my head, the engine roaring as the vehicle caught up to me. My mind was playing tricks on me, and it would only get worse soon...

As I made my way to the manor, I felt in my gut that something was amiss. Jonathan never did invite me inside his manor. Whenever I'd ask, he would answer my question with one of his own. I'd never seen or heard about Jonathan's parents either. But I ignored my suspicions and made my way through the gates. If I had simply paid more attention, I would've noticed the rags on the bird-scarer were missing.

As I made my way to the manor doors, I felt a strange sliver down my spine. The manor gave off a daunting vibe; withered plants, faded paint and a crumbling aviary on the side. How could Crane live in a place like that? Against my better judgment, I quelled my fears and knocked on the door. A long moment passed as a breeze brushed against my back. As I waited, I began to hear condensed footsteps on the other side, growing louder with every passing second. My palms became damp as my heart slammed against my chest; I could feel a tingling in my foot. Trying to rationalize, I summed it up to the run on the way there combined with my nervous energy. When the door opened, my nerves slightly calmed when I saw Jonathan's familiar face. But that didn't last long...

Jonathan was dressed in an awkward getup. He was in a bunch of rags and stockings that looked centuries old. Before I could ask, he claimed they were his pajamas. It was an obvious lie, but I was too anxious from today's events to really pay it any mind. As I told him the news over Griggs and Squires fates, I was eager to see his reaction. I was expecting shock or a guilty joy, satisfaction, something along those lines. But when I finished, he just stared at me with this gauche smile. "Come on in Caleb, you must be hungry." He invited as he opened up the door completely, "You can tell me all about it inside." he said in an indecipherable tone.

Needless to say, I followed him inside. At first, I assumed Crane was drunk, that during the prom something must have happened to him. Being inside, I couldn't help but notice the wear and tear of the house interior. I could hear the rats scurrying through the woodwork, and there was a stale odor in the air. I glanced at all of this wondering just how Jonathan could live this way...

But when I turned back to look at Jonathan, he was gone. I stood still as a statue, calling out to Jonathan. Suddenly, my calls were answered—with a lullaby, an agonizing slow tune that was accompanied by ominous, dragging noise...

_Hush, little baby, don't say a word. _  
_Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird_

_And if that mockingbird won't sing, _  
_Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring _

_And if that diamond ring turns brass, _  
_Papa's gonna buy you a looking glass..._

I could hear the object scraping against the wall, grinding off the worn paint. The muffled voice let out a sickening cackle that made my heart skip a beat. It was at that point I realized how grave a mistake I had made. My fate was sealed the moment I knocked on that door. Frightened, I scrambled towards the front door, desperately clawing towards the door knob. But to my horror, the door was locked. Before I could undo it, I felt a throbbing pain in the back of my head—and everything faded to black.

* * *

Final Chapter: Cathartes Aura (Both perspectives)

Author's Note: Sorry it took so long, I've been busy with college work. Well, here we are folks, at the end of the tale. To all my readers and reviewers, I thank you for staying with me this far. You are the main reason this story has kept on going. I promise you, the finale will be worth the wait.


	10. Cathartes Aura

**To Walk with Fear**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Batman or any of its characters, all of them are the property of DC Comics. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**Chapter 10: Cathartes Aura**

Crane

Who would've thought it would end like this? I can hardly believe it. I'm really going to do this. I just struck Caleb in the back of the head, and now I have him strapped to a chair. A syringe rests between my fingers, housing a mixture of hallucinogenic substances. Who am I kidding? It's just Phencyclidine, PCP that I bought from a shady pharmacist that I laced with a few other chemicals. But we all must start somewhere, no? Will this work? Probably not, but as the saying goes, fear of failure...

I believe it's a safe investment in the long run. If he lives, his mind will probably be lost and I won't have to worry about him talking. If he dies—dead men tell no tales. It's just another step in conquering the last of my fears… but this—this is going to be the hardest thing I've ever had to do... after killing Granny Keeny, Sherry, and crippling Griggs, one would think this would be easier… but those were people I loathed; this is someone I—respected. I can tell right here and now, that this is going to be very bittersweet…

What am I thinking? I am the Scarecrow! On my way to becoming the Master of Fear! I have no need for sentimentality! To earn this title, such emotions _must be snuffed out_. In my world, there are no friends, only temporary alliances through mutual gain. Caleb, you've been a valuable asset, but now you've become a liability. So I'm _afraid_ you must be dealt with. Hm-hmm…

This old aviary's developing quite a history. The origin of my terror and the resting place of Granny Keeny is now the venue of my first experiment. It brings me back to that fateful day—I can still see the crows pouring through the hole as she slowly fell to the ground. And I watched with a new-found pleasure as they tore her apart. I can still hear the echoes of her dying screams, a one note symphony.

Come to think of it, I've never seen Caleb afraid before, have I? I've seen him cry, and lord knows I've seen him angry. But never have I witnessed him truly terrified. I wonder what it looks like. Does he panic? Does he cry? Or does he scream? Please be a screamer, Caleb. So Great Granny's soul can have a duet…

Caleb is finally starting to come to. Good. This syringe is making my fingers anxious. I utter his name. "Wallace…"

Caleb

"Wallace…"

Ugh—my head… my arms and legs won't move… what's going on…?

Everything's a blur, gotta give myself a moment, let things shift back into focus. God—my head! Why the hell am I strapped to a chair? This isn't payback for Griggs, is it? All of a sudden, my heart damn near jumps out of my chest—there's someone in front of me!

Wait a minute, I recognize that costume. "Jonathan?" I call out, it's gotta be him. He's the only one who would be wearing those ugly rags. I see his eyes narrow through the eye sockets of his mask, and he lets out this disgusted breath, as if I insulted him. He lifts his hand towards his mask, taking his sweet ass time taking that burlap sack off his head. Is he seriously trying to scare me? What the hell is he—wait—is that a syringe…? My God, Jonathan…

I can't stop staring at it! Whatever's inside it must be covered in death! My eyes slowly make their way up Jonathan's arm and shoulder, and I freeze. I see him staring back at me, drilling holes in my face with a look from hell. "Hello, Caleb."

His voice was a stalagmite to the heart. Is this really Jonathan Crane, the lanky passive aggressive bookworm? Over the winter break—what did he do to himself? What is he doing to me…? We're friends, aren't we…? Well, I guess it's obvious that he's forgotten that. And I'd be an idiot if I couldn't piece together that Jonathan was behind Griggs and Sherry's accident. The whole thing felt way too—opportune…

Christ, Caleb… what are you gonna do? Best friend's gone psycho, syringe filled with only God knows what, alone in a place no one will find me, and a mother… a mother who probably won't even file a missing person report…

"Having a bad day?" he mocks me. Jonathan Crane is mocking me. You know what? No. No! NO! Not like this! Dammit! I keep trying to get out, but this jagged rope keeps raking against my irritated skin! I gotta get out of this! I have to see another day! I've gone through too much to die like this…!

"Crane, I swear I won't tell anyone!" c'mon Caleb, convince him, "Why would I? I hated those two just as much as you did!" keep pushing, "I'll never forgive that bastard for killing Mortimer!" And it hits me—Mortimer is still in my backpack… sandwiched between me and the back of this wooden chair...

"Mortimer…" My voice is getting hoarse, I take my eyes off Crane for a second… until I hear a chortle escape his lips. He's smiling…? "What? What's funny!" he's just shaking his head at me, with that damn look on his face!

"Like that fool knows cursive." He finally responds, imitating my voice.

Wait—'Like that fool knows cursive?' that's what I always said about Griggs! And how he couldn't—oh my God… he couldn't have—he wouldn't have! "You… J-Jonathan… you killed…?"

"I'll never understand what you see in those ugly things…"

Crane

"You BASTARD!" His voice booms throughout the aviary. My heart would've skipped a beat if I wasn't prepared for that. His anger always used to frighten me. Not anymore…

Even though it's trying to reason with a savage… "For what it's worth, it gave me the courage to deal with Sherry and Gri-"

"But Mortimer! Why him?" Saliva and tears of anger are running from his face. His voice is leaving him. He must feel so—_betrayed_…

"Like you said, fear of failure must never be a reason not to try something!" I throw back in his face. "If you want to blame someone for any of this, look in a mirror!" I'm getting excited, "You encouraged me, Caleb! If it weren't for you, I would've never gone to that party! I would've never been humiliated like that! And I would've never had the courage to act on any of my urges!" I must keep a level head. Lack of control leads to error…

I look upon Caleb's pitiful state, scrutinizing his entire person. He wants to clutch himself, sink to the floor and pretend this is all just a nightmare. But that would hinder my examination, mustn't have that. Propped up in such a manner, I can see everything; his guilt, the self-loathing. But most of all, I see fear. A fear that stems from denial, likely from his father's death and the hand that he played in it. Redemption, was that what I was to him? A chance to prove he could succeed at anything? Such progress is a victory in itself, but I want more… _I need more_ _fear_.

So this is how Griggs and his posse felt. To be in complete control of another person's mind. I've never felt this powerful before in my life! Less than a year ago, Caleb seemed so—invincible. He was the stoic Hans Van Ripper to my cowardly Ichabod Crane. Now look at him; reduced to nothing by my own hand! Caleb's every thought and emotion relies solely on my actions. I hold his very life in my hands. Perhaps this is how it feels—to be a god. Hmm, a god of fear? An empty niche—duly noted.

Perhaps it's the last of my esteem for Caleb, but I can't help but give him a second outlook. Newfound power such as this must be tested, "But perhaps, I should be thanking you, Caleb." He quells his sobbing, "If not for you, I would have never been brave enough to achieve my deepest desires." His strained eyes begin to perk, "if not for you, I'd still be the weakling being bullied at this very moment." Speaking of which, school's still in session. "You taught me how to conquer the fear known as doubt…" this is almost too sappy, "despite the—upsetting—outcome of the party, it was you who gave me that pleasant quote that's guided me through so much turmoil." I need not say which.

Some color is brought back to his cheeks; his fate suddenly seems less grim. "In that aspect, you truly did succeed, Caleb." I've have lifted him towards _heaven_…

"However…" So I can cast him down to _hell_… "If I am to truly become the master of fear, I must remove it from my person entirely." I adjust my grip on the syringe, in plain sight of Caleb's vision, just to watch his eyes widen. "And at this moment… my only actual fear is—losing you…" It bothers me to admit it, but during the winter, the status of Caleb's well-being did cross my mind—more than once. I've never felt such concern for another before. Concern: a synonym for anxiety, another word for fear.

"Caleb, you are my last _weakness_. You're the last remnant of my former miserable life." I can see the gears turning in Caleb's head. All signs of bliss fading as quickly as they came. "But once you're gone, I can finally bury Jonathan Crane and salt the earth…" my face muscles start to twitch. I'm getting anxious again…

I sprint towards him as fast as I can, for a simple jump scare. I can almost feel Caleb's heart lose its tempo. "_Caleb_…" I've wanted to do this for a long time. "You always loved to claim that you were so _superior_ to everyone around you. You would always go on tangents about the insignificance of others…" I lean forward in excitement; I can't help but look him dead in the eyes for this, "But what's significant about you, Caleb? What's significant about Caleb Wallace? You don't possess any athletic or artistic talent! Your grades are the epitome of average!"

I can feel the hatred _exuding_ from him… "You think, just because you're 18 and you wear khakis and dress shirts, that you're something special! Face it Caleb, you are just a run-of-the-mill, dime-a-dozen, pretentious, _bore_." I'm telling him everything he doesn't want to hear. Caleb isn't a man of common fears such as: spiders, heights, or bacteria. His fears reside entirely in his subconscious.

Oh, how many times have I studied that excerpt of his? 'Fear of failure must never be a reason not to try something'. Now why would a man such as Caleb Wallace memorize such a quote? Fear of failure, now what is fear of failure linked to? Fear of criticism and fear of rejection. Every time the other students would get on his case, he'd through a tantrum. He loved to criticize others, but couldn't stand it himself. Like most people, he shunned them, believing it better to reject them before they did so to him. He probably thought that would solve his problems, but I'm all but certain those students plagued his thoughts every minute. I would know…

The answer is obvious: Caleb suffers from what is called, Atychiphobia. Ironic, he cured me of mine, yet lost his immunity in the process. But that's not the end of Caleb's diagnosis. No. His Atychiphobia is but the offspring of his greatest fear—his fears of being forgotten by the world—Athazagoraphobia. But rather than take the path most men take, getting married and having children to spread on his name, he has it in his head that if he somehow gains eminence, he'll live forever. And I'm certain in that warped brain of his, it involves vultures. It _always_ involves vultures…

Funny, the more I do this, the more I realize Caleb was a mental breakdown itching to happen. Though I can't help but acknowledge the parallels, no doubt through my endeavors will I gain notoriety. But Caleb's world is too small to achieve such a dream. A world so small, one can't even change their mind in it. Who knows? Maybe this serum is just what the doctor ordered…

But before I do that, "Just like Mortimer, nobody cares but you. What exactly were you planning on doing anyway? Opening the first only vulture kennel?" Must put the final nail in the coffin…

Caleb

I try to mute it out! I try to ignore it! But there's no escape…! Everything hurts… my head, my mind, my heart—my pride. Mortimer…!

"Caleb, think of it this way," he isn't finished, "This is very first of what will be many experiments. When my success is only every television, magazine, and newspaper article; I'll be sure to mention you during the interviews."

"SHUT UP!" Can't break free of this goddamn chair! I'll sell my soul just to get my hands of this bastard! ANYTHING! I wanna kill him! KILL HIM! Fuck…! Why…? God… why? Why like this…?

Every muscle in body aches, how long have I been trying to get free? The chair is only starting to wobble, and my arms and legs are already giving out! I've screamed, fought, and cried until there's nothing left in me. But I have to get out of here! "God… please…"

"God?" he shoots a nasty gaze towards a skull lying on the ground. What the hell? "Truly desperate aren't we, Caleb?" let me out of this chair and I'll show you someone desperate. "But by all means, pray. Beg for Him to intervene. I mean, he's looked after you so well in the past…" Somehow he does it… he finds a new way to hurt me… I never should have told him about my family, about my mother… I should've kept my mouth shut! Dad always told me, 'a secret known to two is no secret'…

I can't even think of a response. It's too much… it's all too much… I can't take it anymore. Tried everything… too upset to think of anything else. It's becoming clear… _painstakingly _clear… that, no matter what I say or do, I'm not going to get out of this…

So this is it…? This is really how the Wallace story is gonna end… all those months of suffering through all that bullshit wasn't worth its namesake. Well Caleb… f-for what it's worth…! At least the vultures will find you… who knows? Maybe they'll return Mortimer to the heavens too…

I'm huffing a mile a minute as warm tears flow down my cheeks like rivers. But before—'it' happens—I have to ask him one last thing. "Jonathan…" barely above a whisper, "were we ever friends?" I want to say more, but the words keep dying on my tongue…

Jonathan seems taken aback by the question. One last time, I see that familiar pondering face, his cold exterior thaws for just a moment, "Yes."

So, he did consider me a friend… "Then why are you doing this to me? After everything we've been through! All the abuse I suffered with you…! What- what are you trying to be?"

No response. He just stands there. His eyes shift towards that skull on the ground again, and then to the burlap sack and syringe still clutched in his hands. He stares at them so intently it's as if they've—_possessed_ him. If only I could read his thoughts, then maybe this would all make sense…

"The Scarecrow is the master of fear…" his tone is so solemn… "When you look at me, there is no fear in your eyes. You still see Jonathan Crane. And that's what you'll always see. Ask yourself, what is a scarecrow without fear?"

I've never been good with riddles. If I wasn't so tired right now, maybe I'd have an answer to that. I tried—but I lost him… "Well, Jonathan—if you're even there anymore—I just want you to know… that I loved you like a brother… you were family to me…" I've never been more sincere. "You were the only person I knew that I would call…" as tasteless as it sounds, "significant..."

And with a breath, the last of my sentiment faded, "But instead—I have a Scarecrow… an insignificant Scarecrow…" I found my rage. "You'd better hope I don't survive. Because if I do—I swear in the name of God—I'll tear every thread and straw out of your body and burn whatever's left!" glaring daggers right through his neck. With that said, I take my last look at Jonathan Crane. Scarecrow flashes me a demonic sneer as he dons that ugly burlap sack.

"I wonder what you'll see." The sound of his voice poisons the air "After all this time, you've shared oh so many of your fears with me; prominently, your fear of dying without achieving prominence. That when you died, you would end up an unvisited gravestone. Or how about your most vocal fears of failing? Being looked upon as one of the very _insignificants_ you despise? Your phobias can be summed up to Atychiphobia and Athazagoraphobia. A fear of failure brought on by a fear of being forgotten."

"And in death, your fears will be realized!" flaunting the syringe like a fool, "I'm still testing the serum. But with this injection, you should experience things—most fearful." He grabs a full head of my hair, holding my head in place. I can feel the needle against my neck, piercing its way through my skin. On instinct, I shut my eyes and bite my tongue, trying to nullify the pain! It doesn't work…

And at the end of fear…" He presses down on the plunger, emptying the entire barrel of toxin into my body… "Oblivion!"

Caleb

As the toxin works its way through my body, the world around me begins to smear. Figures slowly moving and twisting, vanishing as soon as they appear…? The only thing that's still here is the Scarecrow. My god, his eyes glow a demonic blaze, as if he was no longer human… or ever human to begin with. Crane's figure twisted into an unholy apparition, a preternatural banshee. My stomach caves in on itself as I taste of bile in the back of my throat. I have no idea what's going on! I feel as helpless as a mouse in a den of tigers! And I can't stop moving! My limbs aren't moving… so why do I travel?

_It's amazing what fear does. Turns brave men into cowering children, sends hardened criminals scurrying like schoolgirls. And I'm feeling the effects of fear right now. Trembling heartbeat, quickening breaths, the world around me is swimming, hostile, unfamiliar..._

_In order to make any sense of this, I have to go back to the beginning, back to the first day I met "him."_

Crane, they called him Ichabod Crane... but I know his real name. Jonathan. Jonathan Crane! Jonathan of the Cranes…!

Crane

I have just crossed the point of no return. From the looks of things, Caleb doesn't have any idea where he is. Perhaps a new location may yield different results? Mm, it's worth a try. I skid the old chair out of the aviary, trying to decipher Caleb's incoherent babble, and into the cornfields. Maybe the change of scenery will elicit a different response?

Now that that's over, let's take a closer look, shall we? Hmm, he's showing signs of hysteria… but it doesn't seem concentrated, at least not yet. I'll give him a minute, wait for the serum to run its course. He seems a bit nauseated, not unexpected, considering the substance. I can see the veins in his neck, and his eyes straining from the pressure. It's time…

Now he's yanking about like a madman, a moment ago he was completely drained, docile. And just like that, the chair finally gives in. Calm yourself Scarecrow, you mustn't fear. You are no Jonathan Crane, you can defend yourself if need be. Caleb's loose but he isn't attacking, quite the contrary, he's seems to be panicking! Progress! Wait, I can't celebrate just yet… there's something wrong here… why is he?

Observing him whisper and squirm about the field, I am given pause. Granted, my first experiment with hallucinogenic substances would not be the most successful… but this? I need a better solvent; the performance of this anesthetic is… unsatisfactory. Something is amiss. He is indeed afraid, but his state of anxiety seems... fractured. His behavioral patterns are not that of utter panic but…

Wait. I recognize these motions. That time we walked home… when he was going on about those accursed rats with wings!

What is going on in that head of his? Perhaps I should have tried to communicate with him earlier, at least I'd have an idea of what he's seeing. I was too eager, too careless! At least I know what to do now for the next experiment…

Caleb

_I collapse, the chair that I was bound to screamed as it limbs cracked. The cries of shattered chair echoed through my ears like an ominous siren. The dirt beneath me is no longer tangible, and its mirage gives way to the street miles below me. Faceless bodies litter the streets and pedestrians just walk past without a care in the world. Understandable, who would mourn someone who has no face? No character? No significance. But the deeper I fall, I recognize the shapes of the corpses below—are all me. My face feels like it's burning, like it's melting away my features. I let out a muffled screech, yet no one acknowledges my existence. No one cares. I was damned to be another faceless body; an inconsequential…_

_As I fall, I somehow force my body to turn over, not wanting to observe my fate. But, to my awe, my face stops burning as I see a vulture swooping down from a rusted sun, ready to welcome me into its talons. I look towards the corroded sun and stretch my arms as far as I can. My voice hoarse, I force myself to utter the name, "Mortimer…"_

My limbs are given newfound power as I am rescued from my fate. Of all men, it is Mortimer that saves me. I thought he was dead, but then again, what is death to a vulture but a companion?

Crane

After grinding his face against the rough sterile soil, he's risen to his feet and is staring at the sun. I observe him intently, and come to a disappointing realization. There is not enough fear in his eyes. His terror is waning and in its place is awe. Though time was short, simply mixing hallucinogens and stimulants is a foolhardy way of experimenting. I'm sure that during college, I'll be able to further my study of chemistry. Nevertheless, I gave him a concentrated dose; he may not survive the ordeal anyway. If he does, the psychological trauma may be long-lasting, even permanent. I think I realize what I have just done. Rather than enhance his fears, I augmented his ideas. This will make for an interesting observation.

I can't help but think about the day I first learned about his fears. It was a discussion I'll never forget…

Regardless, this test wasn't a complete failure. I did succeed in getting a fearful reaction, albeit temporary and unfocused. Once I have access to more in-depth information on the effects of certain chemicals, I'll be able to mend this flaw. Heheheh… Caleb, you are indeed a _significant_ test subject…

His dilated eyes scan the skies in wonder, watching the figments of his imagination move and shift. But suddenly, his face contorts and he snaps downward and vomits in reaction to the chemicals. To my surprise, he begins to claw at his own excrete, as if searching for something. His motions become more and more erratic and violent, until he turns his attention towards me. He glares that odious glare that used to frighten me. Like a madman, he charges at me and I am forced to flee.

As I run through the corn field, I'm reminded of the day I vowed to conquer fear. The last time I was chased like this was at Jason Greene's Halloween party…

As much as this hurts my pride, I'll have to hide from Wallace. It's not that I'm afraid; it's just that I can't risk such a confrontation with him in such a rabid state.

Caleb

_The birds… the birds… they grasp at me, saving me from the bleakness I was damned to. Whispers and hisses that were once foreign, all began to make sense. It all makes sense now! They want to welcome me as one of their own, but in order to become one of them; I must shed my former skin. As I regurgitate the remnants of my old self, I dig away through the skin and fascia. I find nothing. Someone had stolen my remains. The creature that stands near me is the one responsible. It is no longer something I recognize and its still frame provokes me._

_This rage, this pure hatred, it's very familiar…_

But that man is gone, Caleb Wallace is gone. He is dead and gone. Heh—gone forever… Heheheheheh! And from his death came my birth! The insignificant Caleb Wallace has given way to a new vulture! A Cathartes Aura! Cathartes… a cleansed soul… when Caleb's remains are devoured, Cathartes will inherit his visage—and his visage only. Caleb's weaknesses, his failures, his demons… will not be applicable to me. Yes…

_After the inheritor of the dead welcomed me into his talons, I now float amongst them. I share their eyes, their nose—their earth. I can still hear the creature running through the literal urban jungle, but he is no longer a concern. A Cathartes Aura only has business with the dead. The world is a shifting channel. That which is, converses to and from. I stretch my wings and glide between the skyscrapers, and now I'm suddenly on the ground, walking. Is it me that is indecisive? Or is it the world? It's getting harder to keep it together. What's real and what's a figment is starting to blend…_

_I make my way out of the mirages, and as I leave, I see my comrades working on two recently departed rodents. Seeing them feast on the two bodies gets me thinking about a party, gets me thinking about a certain couple…_

Crane

Well that was unexpected. At first he tries to attack me, and then he just loses interest. Regardless, just lacing Phencyclidine has proven itself unsatisfactory. I need a more accurate mixture, one that actually invokes panic. However, one can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. And for what it's worth, it was a good practice experiment before I go to college.

At least now I don't have to worry about anyone finding out. Who's going to believe a raving lunatic? Caleb Wallace, what a specimen you've been: A lab rat, an experiment… a motivator, an ally—a friend. I'll never understand you, Caleb. You could've had an easy time here, you could've just gone with the flow of things, taken Griggs' advice and avoided all of this. We're not related, I never gave you anything, and you knew you were going to suffer by associating yourself with me. So why did you try to befriend me? Why did you try so hard to befriend me? Was it really out of guilt? Out of pity? Or perhaps, was it out of some skewered form of respect?

Enough! There's no point in musing on this now. The man in question is no longer capable of answering. I'm curious as to what his story will be when he's apprehended. Speaking of which, I need to write my letter of absence for school tomorrow…

Cathartes

_Who or what am I? I am no longer certain. My memories are becoming even vaguer; all I can remember are a few select faces, and the hatred they summon inside me. But even that will smear away soon. I'd like to think of myself as a once good individual, and that my deeds were done in indignation. But my only vivid memories make me look like a monster…_

Who I was before is irrelevant, what I was before is insignificant. I cleanse the world now. And if the world deems me a monster for that—so be it…

* * *

Epilogue

After high school, Jonathan Crane enrolled at Gotham University where he became the prized student of psychology professor Avram Bramowitz. Although he had great respect for Bramowitz, he was bothered by the fact that his mentor could so easily dismiss the importance of the psychology of fear. Despite this, Crane wanted to be Bramowitz' colleague, however, there were no available staffing positions at the school. Undeterred, Crane turned his interests towards chemistry where he developed a powerful hallucinogen that caused people to psychologically experience their greatest fear. He used this toxin against Professor Bramowitz, leading to the pedagogue's death. With Bramowitz out of the way, Crane was able to take his position as a professor of psychology with an emphasis on the study of fear. Crane was eventually dismissed for firing a bullet at a flower pot in a classroom demonstration of a body's reaction to fear. After which, he killed the people responsible for his dismissal and became a career criminal. Following this, he transfers to Arkham Asylum and becomes a psychiatrist, where he performs fear-inducing experiments on his patients.

Bo Griggs dropped out of high school. He never did tell anyone about his last confrontation with Caleb. Scarecrow would eventually return to finish off Griggs years later.

Caleb's mother was ultimately murdered by a then-unknown serial killer. After breaking in the apartment, the killer slit her throat—and left her in a "life-like" position…

Caleb Wallace was later found in an alleyway, eating a dead homeless man with the remains of vulture's carcass propped up to watch. When the police tried to apprehend him, he tried to vomit on them as a means of self-defense. As the police used force, Caleb responded with violence and tried to escape capture. Eventually he was subdued, and interrogated. Throughout the examination, he insisted that his name was Cathartes, and that he was a vulture in human skin. His sociopathic nature became more and more apparent as he spoke of his twisted philosophies and how he attempted to rationalize his behavior by claiming his victims terminally ill and deeming euthanasia. Clearly a schizophrenic, Caleb was deemed psychotic and was sent to The Elizabeth _Arkham Asylum_ for the Criminally Insane.

However, Caleb did achieve a degree of fame. He did make the news, but it wasn't for something he would've been proud of. To cover the story, Gotham City News interviewed staff members and students that either turned a blind eye to him, or were the ones that mocked him. Jordan Schmidt, a fellow student, had this to say "We all knew Caleb was weird—him and Crane. Sure, we roughed him up a bit, but we never thought he'd...well, eat people. I hope he gets the help he needs." Jonathan couldn't be reached for comment.

Caleb became something of a spook story at Kane High School, now known as "Caleb the Cannibal" or "Cannibal Caleb". Where he used to sit and the classes he attended became 'haunted' areas. Nevertheless, he did leave his mark on the school, no one would forget him.


End file.
